Pavement Diaries
by Lady Aeribeth Leyeltz
Summary: He just ran. It was the only thing he could do right, and it was the only thing that felt safe. Too scared to turn back and too far gone to ask anyone for help... AU in which the Boy-Who-Lived disappeared, the Order is fighting a loosing battle, and one Harry James Potter finds himself in the company of a Dark Lord, unaware of what the fates have in store for them... Eventual SLASH
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! This is Lady Aeribeth Leyeltz, debuting her first story. I really hope you like it, if you do, please, let me know! Also, I know roughly where I'm going with this story, but I do need a BETA to talk with. So, if you're interested, let me know. Thank you very much, and please enjoy.**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_The lesson in breathing, is never using control  
>Seconds to misplaced I've never been so unsure<em>

**~X~**

He was 15 months old.

The boy was far too young to truly understand his surroundings, and far too young to be able to recall this night in his future.

Mommy and Daddy had just put him in his crib. He had squirmed more than usual, he didn't want to go to bed. Tonight was different, he could tell that much. There were so many people wandering the streets of Godric's Hollow; parents calling their children, children laughing, friends meeting under the lamplight. But, none came to the door of the Potter house. Mommy and Daddy had gone back downstairs, leaving little Harry alone. He could hear Daddy breathing a sigh of relief and sitting down, and Mommy laughing a nervous laugh. Mommy and Daddy were scared, but he didn't know why. Everyone he had ever met loved his mommy and daddy, so they shouldn't have anything to worry about, right?

Harry had almost fallen asleep, when he heard the crash. He wasn't sure what is was, but it reminded him of when Uncle Siri had driven his bike into the side of the house. He was alright, and Daddy was laughing, but Mommy was furious, and started shouting at him about crushing her garden. But, in the end, they were all laughing, it was funny. This wasn't a funny crash. Something was wrong. He could hear Mommy scream, and daddy shouting something.

"Go, just go! Get to Harry, I'll hold him off!"

Daddy was scared. But that didn't make sense, Daddy was never scared. Not even when there was a bug in the house, and Mommy needed him to kill it. Daddy just didn't get scared. Ever. Suddenly, there was another voice downstairs. It was high, and cold, and it almost reminded him of Mommy's tea kettle when it began hissing. It sent a chill down Harry's spine, he didn't like it. Daddy shouted back, but he didn't say anything. He just, shouted, before something hit the floor downstairs. Mommy slammed the door to his room open. She looked at him, absolutely terrified. Her eyes were wet, Harry couldn't remember ever seeing that. He wondered what it meant. Mommy turned away from him, to face the stranger. He had followed her into the room, Harry hadn't even seen him enter. His face was completely covered by his black hood, but Harry could see his hands, and how unnaturally pale they were. His complexion and his robes made him look something like the reaper in the story Uncle Siri liked to read to him, the one about the three brothers. Mommy stepped back, putting herself between Harry and the stranger.

"No, no, don't hurt Harry, kill me instead, just, just don't hurt Harry!"

What did "hurt" mean? Harry had never heard the word before. Mommy was so scared, she was shaking. He could only imagine that "hurt" wasn't a good thing.

The man laughed, and told her to step aside. She shook her head no, and began shaking even harder. The stranger let out another chuckle, and raised his wand. Harry had seen Mommy and Daddy use theirs before, to clean up after him, and reach things in high places. Wands were good things, it didn't make sense for Mommy to be afraid of one. But this man wasn't reaching for something, or cleaning a nappy. Instead, his want erupted with a stream of vibrant green light. The man repeated the same strange words he had heard earlier, and Harry watched as the light hit her in the chest, and his Mommy fell to the floor. Suddenly, she was very quiet, and she had stopped shaking. For a moment, she seemed peaceful, like she was sleeping. Why was she sleeping? The man stepped forward, and kicked her to the side. He was just kicked Mommy, why didn't she wake up? He looked down at his Mommy, waiting for her to get up, to laugh again, and tell him that everything was ok.

Things didn't seem ok. This man felt dangerous, why did he make Mommy cry? He turned his face away from the sleeping form of his mother, and looked back at the reaper. Harry still couldn't see his face, but he could see the wand pointed at him now. Was the reaper going to make him go to sleep too? That didn't seem so bad, Mommy and Daddy made him go to bed all the time. Nothing about tonight made any sense. Where was Daddy? Why hadn't he come upstairs to check on Mommy? He heard the reaper begin speaking again, that same, strange language he couldn't make sense of, before he saw the green light again, this time rushing towards him. The man was still laughing.

Then, there was nothing.

**~X~**

He was three years old.

It was a Tuesday, sometime in June. Harry looked out the window of the Dursley's kitchen, enjoying a moment of peace before Dudley would come running in. The other boy seemed to have made a game of knocking Harry down at every possible chance. It was hardly a fair game, seeing as Dudley was not only a year older than him, but he was also much larger. Not that it was difficult to be larger than the green eyed toddler, who, due to his petite frame, was still frequently mistaken for a two year old. Harry's size never bothered him though, since this at least allowed him to hide in smaller spaces when he wanted to get away from the bully.

Harry turned his attention away from the birds flitting about outside, and looked at his Aunt Petunia. She was flitting back and forth about the kitchen in much the same manner as the birds outside, making sure she had everything ready to make breakfast for Dudley, who had been reminding everyone for the last week and a half that today was his fourth birthday. Petunia began opening and closing every drawer before her frantically, looking for something that had been misplaced. She stood up, placed her hands on her hips in an exasperated manner, and looked up at the boy sitting by the window.

"Harry, where's my good skillet?" The question was brisk, and almost spat out. Anyone else may think she was just too upset to ask nicely, but Harry knew that was just the way his Aunt was. He also knew that usually best course of action form here was to smile, answer, and fetch the object in question for her.

"It should be in the cabinet on the left." He got up from the table and headed towards the cabinet, reaching up on his tippy toes as high as he could, but couldn't quite reach it. Aunt Petunia walked over and got it, pushing him slightly out of the way. She went back to running around the kitchen, and Harry decided to stay out of her way for now. As he watched how his Aunt doted over every last detail of Dudley's birthday breakfast, Harry couldn't help but be overwhelmed with questions. One in particular.

"Hey, Aunt Petunia," He asked, nervously. She snapped back almost immediately.

"What?"

"How come," he paused. "How come Dudley calls you and Uncle Vernon Mum and Dad, and I call you Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?"

She froze. It was the last question she could imagine the boy before her asking. Did he really not understand why he lived with them? She looked up at him, something akin to sympathy almost reflecting in her eye, before it was replaced by disdain. Or maybe it was bitterness, Harry wasn't sure. He didn't quite know the difference yet. Petunia Dursley turned back towards her morning preparations before speaking again, to avoid making eye contact with her nephew.

"Foolish boy, it's because Dudley is our son, and you're not. Your mother was my sister, and now you live with me. That's that."

"Oh...Well, if you're not my parents, then where are they?"

"Where are who?"

"My parents."

The question was so innocent, so naive, yet it made Petunia Dursley's blood want to burn. It was all her sister's fault, her oh so _perfect_ sister, with all her freakishness, who always had a habit of showing up with some new strangeness as soon as her life would become normal; When they were children, and she would float through the air, make flowers move without touching them, and then befriending that other _freak_ from Spinner's End, when she would come home for the summers, with newts in her pockets and insanity in her head, when she had become engaged to Vernon, and Lily had the nerve to bring her worthless freak of a boyfriend to visit. And then, when her sister had finally seemed to drop out of her life for good, what do you know? She had gotten herself _blown up_ and stuck Petunia with a constant reminder of what her sister really was, a constant reminder of the stain she could never wash from the family, no matter how hard she tried to be normal. And to top it off, the child didn't even realize she and Vernon weren't his parents. She grit her teeth and looked up at the boy. He was watching her, unblinking, watching her with_ Lily's _eyes. Those eyes were the only thing he shared with her sister, but it was enough to make Petunia want to scream. She looked away, unable to take her sister's gaze any longer.

"Your parents are... They're dead. Now, go. Just... Just get out of here."

Petunia didn't trust herself to say any more than that. She didn't want to begin shouting, and wake up Vernon and her precious Duddykins. Harry wasn't sure why Aunt Petunia was so upset, or if he had done something wrong. Without a word, he left the room and went back to the cupboard under the stairs. He would wait there until Dudley came thundering down the stairs.

Aunt Petunia had used a strange word. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever heard it before, and he wasn't sure what it meant. It was times like this that the green eyed boy wished he could read, then he could find Uncle Vernon's dictionary and look it up.

But whatever it meant, it sounded nice, if it was where his parents were.

That was the first time Harry James Potter wished he was dead.

**~X~**

He was five years old.

Harry and Dudley had entered kindergarten a few months ago, and while Dudley had many friends, and was always watched by their teacher, Ms. Parker, Harry seemed to have a habit of fading into the background. Not that it bothered him; to Harry, it was better to be ignored than to be chased by Dudley and his new best friend, Pierce Polkiss. "Harry Hunting" was the name of their game. The rules roughly consisted of counting to five, during which time Harry would run as far as he could, and then Dudley and Pierce would run after him. The fact that Dudley couldn't actually count wasn't considered when the rules were written. But it didn't matter whether Dudley counted to seven, or if he only made it to three; He still could only catch Harry about half the time. It wasn't exactly hard to out run Dudley, who was already significantly larger than the rest of their class, but nonetheless, it made Harry proud. It made him feel like there was something he could do, something he could do _right_. After all, so much went wrong around him.

Like the day before school started, when Aunt Petunia tried to give him a haircut. She was furious, since his thick ebony locks were so unruly, and had decided to cut all of it off, save for his bangs, to cover his scar. Harry had been mortified when he saw the cut, partly because of how horrendous the top of his head looked, with the uneven buzz-cut, and partly because if he was going to cut his hair, he'd want to show off his scar; it was the one cool thing about him. After complaining about the cut to his aunt, he'd been promptly send to the cupboard without dinner, where Harry spent the evening dreading school the next day. But when the Dursley's came to get him out the next morning, all his hair was back. Harry was sure he'd never seen Uncle Vernon's face turn quite the shade of purple it had been that morning, and it was a color he liked to look back on whenever he needed a laugh.

There was also the event two weeks ago, when Dudley and Pierce had decided during recess that a game of Harry Hunting was an order, and had forgotten the rule about counting to five. Harry had been climbing the monkey bars at the time, and only saw them coming at the last second. He dropped down, and began running faster than he could remember ever running before. But every time he'd look back, they'd still be there, and they'd be closer and closer.

Then, he had passed the old oak tree at the edge of the school, and turned to run alongside the fence. He knew it would lead to a dead end, when the length of metal grid wall met the other corner, but he hoped that Pierce would give up, and Dudley would collapse before then. Only, when he turned at the tree, the fence vanished. So did the tree, and the school, the soccer field where the older kids were playing, and Dudley and Pierce. In their place was a street he could only remember seeing while riding the bus, some two miles away from school. One of the neighborhood ladies had seen him wandering up and down the street in confusion, and had asked Harry to come inside. She had called the school and told them where he was.

They hadn't even noticed he was missing.

The Dursley's were furious when they came to pick him up. they were certain he had simply ran away from school, and when he told them we was running from Dudley, they accused him of just trying to get his cousin in trouble. Aunt Petunia wouldn't even listen when Harry said he had no idea how he ended up two miles away from school.

After that day, it became a bit harder for Harry to be ignored by the school faculty. The principal didn't want a repeat of the event when the Dursley's had come, and told them that if their child ever went missing without anyone noticing, they would sue the school for negligence. The school didn't realize they were only referring to Dudley, and chose to watch both Dudley and Harry like hawks. Perhaps that was why he was in trouble today. Perhaps if he hadn't disappeared, he would have just been ignored today, and Ms. Parker wouldn't have sent him to the Principal's office. But still, Harry didn't know what he had done wrong, Nothing weird had happened to him today. Whatever he did, it was apparently bad enough to have him sent out of class, accompanied by the teacher's assistant and left sitting on the bench outside Mr. Colton's office. Harry hadn't been sitting long, maybe five minutes, but it felt like forever. He decided to pass the time by making shapes out of the pattern on the carpet. He had just found a bunny and two fish when the door to the office opened.

"Harry, the principal can see you know. Your Aunt and Uncle will be here soon."

Harry's knees shook a little. Had he really done something so bad that they had to call the Dursleys? He shook his head nervously, and entered the office. The principal, Mr. Colton, was sitting at his desk, looking down at some papers in worry. Mr. Colton was a friendly enough man; he was a bit on the short side, portly, and had lost much of his hair. What little remained had turned mostly gray. Were Harry not so scared of what might happen next, he would probably ask where the man's hair went. He kept his attention on the gray patches, until the Principal looked up, regaining his focus. He coughed before speaking.

"Harry, surely, you know why your teacher sent you here, right?" Harry shook his head no. The Principal sounded worried, but Harry doubted the man was as nervous as him.

"Did I do something wrong, Sir?" Mr. Colton sighed at Harry's question, and looked back down at his papers. Harry sat up a little, to see what he was reading. After a moment, he realized that the man wasn't reading anything. He was looking at a drawing. A drawing Harry immediately recognized and he smiled. Maybe he wasn't in trouble after all.

"Oh! That's my drawing! Ms. Parker wanted us to draw something about , err, e-motions, and what e-mo-tions make us think about our families. Do you like it?" Harry was excited and babbling a bit. Emotion was still an unfamiliar word to him though, so that slowed him down. He was smiling, and looking at Mr. Colton, waiting for an answer. The Principal just looked down again, and shook his head. His forehead was resting in his palms, and he had a look of fatigue to him now.

"Sir? Is, is something wrong?" The boy's smile disappeared, and his eyes seemed to darken a bit. Mr. Colton looked up at him, and handed Harry the drawing. Harry reached out to take it, stretching his arm all the way to reach it. He pulled the drawing towards him, admiring his work again, and trying to figure out what was wrong with it. Harry really thought it was a lovely drawing; a scene of butterflies, and flowers, and the sun drawn in bright yellow crayon, all draped around four letters, all capitalized, in the middle of the page.

D E A D

Harry smiled when he read the word. _Dead_. He looked back at the Principal, hoping he would smile too, but the man just looked worried.

"Harry, do you know what that word means?"

Harry frowned at the question. He was fairly bright, he could read better than most of the class, and had already learned to write most of his letters, but, he didn't know the meaning of his favorite word. He shook his head no.

"I heard my Aunt Petunia say it once. I asked her where my parents where, and she said they were dead. So, I think that if it's where they are, it must be a sort of happy thing, right?" He smiled innocently, hoping he was right, but his smile faltered when he saw the look on Mr. Colton's face. He already knew otherwise.

Before the aging Principal could say anything else, the Dursley's came into the room. Mr. Colton spoke to them for a bit, but Harry wasn't listening. His heart was pounding, he was terrified that he had really done something wrong. But, he still didn't know what. Harry went back to making shapes in the carpet, trying to think about anything other than what his relatives were saying. He didn't even notice when he was dismissed from school early and the Dursley's led him out of the room. The ride home was a silent blur. When they arrived back at Privet Drive, Harry followed Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon into the house wordlessly. They didn't seem to be in a mood for talking, so he left to go to his cupboard. But first, he went to find a dictionary. Once the book had been secured, he locked himself under the stairs, and looked up the word that had everyone so concerned. It took some time, and it took almost as long for Harry to read it, but eventually, he found it.

_**dead**__ : adj \ˈded\ : deprived of life , no longer alive_

"Oh."

**~X~**

He was seven years old.

Well, not quite yet. But he would be, tomorrow. Not that anyone on Privet Drive, Harry included, cared much. It was July 30th, probably sometime in mid-afternoon. It had been a few hours since Harry had last seen a clock, so he wasn't sure. The summer air was fresh, yet heavy, as if it would begin raining any minute. He lay in the grass, staring up at the clouds, but not really noticing them. He was aware of many things at the moment; the grass tickling his face, and the dew running down the blades, The sound of the swings, creaking a block away, while the children riding them squealed in delight, and their parents warned them to be careful, the smell of dirt and hydrangeas, like the ones he was hiding under, but none of them mattered to him. It was like existing in a state of suspended animation, waiting for one thing to snap Harry back into reality. That thing was the sound Dudley Dursley and Pierce Polkiss approaching.

Over the summer holiday, the boys had become more bored than ever, and had added a new rule to their game of Harry Hunting; when they caught him, they were allowed to punch him until his glasses broke. Harry wasn't exactly fond of the idea of having to come up with another excuse to tell Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon about why his glasses broke, and he knew they'd never believe the truth, so, he thought it best to hide until they got bored of searching, and went inside to watch the television. This could take hours some days, but that was ok. Harry was sure this would be how he spent his birthday this year, hiding under a hydrangea bush from his cousin, but he wasn't bothered. His birthdays had never been a big deal anyways, they almost didn't matter to him.

almost.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't jealous, he was. Harry was sick of it, sick of having to lie to his Aunt and Uncle about his cousin's constant tormenting, because they wouldn't hear anyone defaming their son, he was sick of everyone looking through him, of acting like he wasn't there, of talking about him like he wasn't in the room. He was sick and tired of not having a family.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. There was a caterpillar crawling on a branch over his head, so he turned all his focus towards the orange and green creature. It didn't work, he couldn't stop thinking about them. Did they even realize how much they bothered him? How much they hurt him? What child wanted to hear themselves referred to as "that freak" when their relatives thought they weren't listening. Or worse, when those relatives knew he was listening, and didn't care. What was it that Harry had done wrong, what did he do to make them hate him so much? They never said they hated him, no, but it was apparent in everything they did. They doted on Dudley's every whim, spoiled him rotten, and congratulated him for everything, no matter how trivial his accomplishments were. Yet they never spared him so much as a second glance.

A new thought emerged in Harry's head, that maybe the problem was with the Dursley's, and not with him. But the idea died as quickly as it had arrived. Of course the problem was him. It had always been him. Harry raised a hand to wipe his eyes. His face was wet, but, that was just the dew, he lied to himself.

His train of thought abruptly crashed when he finally heard what he had feared. Dudley and Pierce were on their way back to Number Four, talking as loudly as they possible could.

"Come on Dud, he's not here, let's go inside."

"Yeah, ok. But this stinks, I was looking forward to chasing the freak."

"Hah, me too! But there's always tomorrow, right?" Pierce laughed, and Dudley laughed in turn. Harry had practically stopped breathing, trying as hard as possible not to be noticed. _If they don't look right when they open the door, they'll never see me_, he thought.

The bullies reached the door, Harry heard it squeak open. He waited for a moment, one, two, and exhaled. He was safe now, and decided to sit up. The boy winced a bit when he put pressure on his left arm, his three-sizes-too-big shirt only barely covering the bruises above his elbow. Harry knew it was an accident, that Uncle Vernon wouldn't have done it on purpose. Usually, he was terrified to touch Harry. Harry ignored the thought and the pain, and stood up, realizing his mistake. He hadn't waited for the door to close, Dudley and Pierce were still standing there, watching him.

Harry swallowed, as a sickening smile stretched across Dudley's face. Pierce just laughed.

"Counting time is over, let's get him Dud!" Shouted Pierce. Harry didn't wait for them to say anything else. He just turned to run. It took him a moment to untangle from the Hydrangea, not long really, but long enough to give Dudley a handicap. Usually Harry could put a distance of twenty feet between them in a matter of seconds, but this time, Dudley was only about seven feet away, Pierce leading at about six. Harry's was only aware of the sounds of footsteps behind him.

What happened next, Harry wasn't sure. He knew he had stepped on a shoelace, and almost fell over. He caught his balance, fortunately, but Dudley and Pierce were right behind him, only inches away from grabbing the back of his shirt. He looked back, green eyes wide with fear, and then, then the view behind him changed, like he was looking at the worlds through a tunnel. There was a nauseating feeling of being constricted, and pushed through some kind of tube, he could barely breath. And the heat, the heat was intense, like he was standing right next to a bonfire. He really thought he was going to die.

And then, he was a block away, standing next to the park. Harry's heart was still pounding, whether it was from the sensation, the chase, or both, he didn't know. Harry spared a second to look back at his cousin, who was now shouting something. Harry couldn't tell what though, he was too far away. Nervously, he took a few steps forward, and began running again.

He just ran. It was the only thing he could do right, and it was the only thing that felt safe. Too scared to turn back and too scared to ask anyone else for help. The only thing that mattered right now was his heart fiercely beating in time with his feet against the pavement. Harry couldn't remember ever running as fast as he did that day. He couldn't remember when Privet Drive disappeared, when he stopped recognizing the streets around him, or when the sun set. All that mattered was the _thump_,_ thump_,_ thump_, reminding him he was safe for another moment.

By the time he stopped running, the skies had turned black. Harry didn't know where he was, but he suspected somewhere in London. The streets were nearly empty, save for a few odd couples and the stray beggar here and there. A few street lamps were out, but the sidewalk was lit enough. He passed by an electronics store, and stopped for a moment to check the time. It was three minutes past midnight. Despite being alone, in a dank part of London, with literally nothing but the clothes on his back, he smiled.

"Happy birthday, Harry." He whispered to himself.

"You're free."

**~X~**

**Notes : Yes, I call it Soccer. In Britain, you really can call it either one, and I don't want to confuse too many people.**

**Also, the definition of dead is not mine, it's from Merriam Webster.**

**I own absolutely nothing. Well, that's a lie, I own the 11-disk set on blu-ray and all the books, but that's it! Rowling owns the rest, and I'm clearly not her.**

**If you enjoyed my story, please review it! Also, if you're interested in BETA work, please contact me! I would like to have a different BETA for every chapter, so the odds are in your favor~**

**Also, I am in my senior year right now, and getting ready to graduate. So updated may be slow, but I'll try and get something up every two weeks of so.**

**Thank you so much for taking the time to read my first work, I hope you come back for more!**

**-Lady Aeribeth Leyeltz**


	2. Chapter 2

**I would just like the thank everyone who has read and/or decided to follow this story. Every time I see an alert that I gained a new follower, I light up a little. And to everyone who reviewed, you made me do a little dance of joy. Hah. Good luck getting that picture out of your head.**

**Also, I am sorry, but this is mostly an interlude chapter, to make the time lapse work. The plot should get going next chapter, promise!**

**Anyways, thank you all so much! Now, on with what you care about, the story!**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_The storm never came, Or it never was  
>Didn't know getting lost in the blue<br>It meant _

_I wound up _

_losing you_

**~X~**

It was mid afternoon. The sun was roughly halfway down the sky, resting at just the right angle; when it passed through the tall, cathedral windows in the oval room, the office was flooded by a brilliant white light, with all the colors of the rainbow dancing along the edges. The array of objects and artifacts littering the room, both arcane and rare, and useless and trivial, reflected the light and cast it in different shapes and sizes, as if the light was broken glass, and the room was simply where it had chosen to fall.

The portraits on the walls, were sleeping, like they most always did, A pensive to the side of the room was swirling about, glistening with whatever secrets it contained, but no one was watching. All the walls were shelved, and covered in books, knick-knacks from all over the world, and the stray phoenix feather. Only one section of the wall, about five feet long, was left bare, and even then, you couldn't truly call it bare. It was clearly the part of the room where the most time had been spent, and the most time had been spent pacing before it.

Newspaper clipping, photographs, letters, a small organizer filled with the glass phials, and a series of bright red threads, pinned down and linking together any possible connections. All the threads radiated out from the same point; a newspaper article in the center of the section of wall. The edges of the paper were worn from being handled frequently, but the article was clearly legible. Next to an enlarged, unnaturally still photograph of a young boy with messy black hair and brilliantly green eyes hidden behind lenses, it read;

**Arson In Little Whinging?**

Yesterday afternoon in the suburb of Surrey in Little Whinging,

fire broke out. The fire was isolated to a single house, Number

Four Privet Drive. The home belonged to the Dursley's, a family

of three, and all emerged from the fire unharmed, though the

house was burned completely to the ground. Firefighters could

not pinpoint where the fire started, or even how the fire began.

"It almost looks like the entire house went up at the same

time, like there was no one spot where it started. We can't make

any sense of it at all." one first responder said. The Dursley's claim

that the fire was an act of arson, caused by their seven year old

nephew, Harry James Potter. Their story is that Potter is a disturbed

young boy, and while their son Dudley was trying to play with him,

he went into a fit of hysteria and lit the house on fire, just before

running away. Eyewitness Arabella Figg claims that the Potter

boy wasn't even in the house when the fire started. However, she

also testifies that he was running away, so investigators speculate

that he may have started the fire and ran away before the inferno

truly began. Harry Potter is not considered dangerous, but could

possibly be a threat to himself if his mental state is damaged.

If you see him, contact... (cont. B4)

It was the only muggle printing on the wall. Naturally, after Mrs. Figg stepped forward as a witness to the disappearance of Harry Potter, the wizarding world lost interest in anything else. The rest of the newspaper clippings were articles from The Daily Prophet, shouting outrage that the Boy who Lived had gone missing, Even more of them choosing to slander Dumbledore for allowing the boy to live with muggles, which Dumbledore took as a welcome change from being proclaimed as the hero he wasn't. There were stories about searches conducted by the ministry, all in an attempt to find Harry Potter, stories about how since he had never entered a Wizarding Institution, other than the hospital he had been born at, the trace had never been placed on him, so they had no means of tracking him, and stories from people who claimed to have seen the boy, many of whom claiming to have pictures as well.

Of course, Albus Dumbledore had met with all of them; the memories of those encounters contained within the glass phials in the organizer. All of them had been frauds, whether it was their intention to be deceitful or not.

Perhaps the worst of the mess had been six years ago, the year that Harry James Potter was to start attending Hogwarts. The Daily Prophet had quite the field day with that; the entire front page of the paper and the next three pages behind it, not to mention a new section of the paper devoted to nothing but the Boy who Lived and how Dumbledore had failed, had been released that day.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, unmoving, as he had for the last few hours. His brow lay pinched between his fingers, his eyes closed in frustration.

Ten years.

He had spent ten years trying to find what had happened to the son of Lily and James Potter, and he had found nothing. Of course he had interviewed the Dursley's, who were still as horrid as be remembered them being sixteen years ago, if not worse. And of course he had gone to the Ministry, organized search parties, met with witnesses, even gone and searched the country himself! But, the boy was gone, and without him having entered Hogwarts, they had no way of finding him, short of pure luck. Luck however, was not something that had been on the side of the grey haired wizard for some time.

Perhaps the real problem began three years ago, or perhaps six. But no, Albus _knew_ this all lead back to that fateful Halloween night sixteen years ago. No one would believe it, no one wanted to believe it, but Dumbledore and a few others knew better; Voldemort_ hadn't_ died that night. Yes, his body had been destroyed, there wasn't a corpse anywhere near the site of the attack, save those of Lily and James, but that didn't mean he wasn't still there. The aging wizard looked up and opened his eyes, which had all but lost their trademark twinkle. He had suspected, since Voldemort could still be called Tom Riddle, that he had studied arts as dark as the practice of making a Horcrux. And with his talent, he could have easily made more than one, Merlin knew he had killed enough people! It was all that made sense, since Dumbledore had already known Tom to reappear once.

That was the event of six years ago, when he learned that Professor Quirrel, the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, had been possessed by Lord Voldemort. Well, perhaps "possessed" wasn't the right word, since Quirrel had invited the killer to share the back of his head, but Albus couldn't think of a better word. He should have known something was going to go wrong with Quirrel sooner, since he had managed to hold the position of Defense Instructor for three years. But, Albus ignored the signs, he was too concerned with the slandering of the prophet. What a fool he had been.

It was lucky then, that a group of students proved to be more observant than himself. A shame that they were first years, so young yet in the face of such danger, but a blessing that they had succeeded. This group consisted of Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom, the boy who almost became the Boy who Lived. How the trio met, he wasn't sure, though he knew it had something to do with a missing toad on the train to Hogwarts.

Perhaps it was their nature as Gryffindors that led them to mistrust Severus, but their trailing of him had led them to stop Quirrel. They didn't know what they were looking for, or even what "Severus" was trying to get to. All they knew was that someone was trying to steal from Hogwarts, and it was their valor that dictated them to stop it. Ronald had sustained significant injuries against Minerva's chess board, and Hermione had turned back at Severus's challenge to help him. So Neville, shockingly enough, was the one to come face to face with Quirrel, and with Lord Voldemort.

Of course he hadn't known who he was facing at the time, and the Longbottom boy came very close to dying down there. It was Severus, who noticed they had gone missing, and came to Albus to find them. The headmaster had only barely arrived in time to stop Riddle from killing Neville, since Neville finally had the stone, and was no longer of any use alive. Quirrel died in the process, but Voldemort, Dumbledore feared, was very much alive.

On a lighter note, Hermione, Ronald, and Neville had healed in a matter of weeks, and gave Gryffindor a much needed win in the House Cup Tournament. Then, they had vanished again from Dumbledore's eye. He didn't have time to watch over them. After all, he had a mission to focus on, he needed to find Harry Potter. He could only assume they had a fairly normal second and third year, he even believed the Longbottom boy had developed a bit of a crush on Miss Granger. But that was all speculation, based on the occasional glance he would witness in the great hall. For the most part, he didn't pay the trio and heed.

Until their fourth year.

Despite Albus's protesting to the Board of Governors, they had decided to reinstate the Tri-Wizard tournament. Lucius Malfoy had been the chairman to suggest they bring the competition back, as a means of building better relations with France and Scandinavia, and he was the one to push most of the other chairmen into voting in favor. Dumbledore had never trusted Lucius, especially not after the first war, and naturally he suspected the Head of the Malfoy's was plotting something. But what? He couldn't even begin to guess. And before he even knew it, another year had begun at Hogwarts, and the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had arrived. Then lo and behold, it was time to draw the names from the Goblet. The months seemed to have simply vanished, but the world came to a screeching halt when the names were called.

Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum...and Neville Longbottom.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Neville survived against the dragon, touching that he managed to work up the courage to ask Miss Granger to the Yule Ball, lucky that he studied Herbology diligently enough to know about Gillyweed, and a strong testament to his character that he could handle the constant ridicule of his classmates. He wasn't winning the tournament, no, but he had held his own, and by the final task, he was in second place. But then, it was time for the champions to enter the maze.

Fleur only made it about halfway through before she was hexed into unconsciousness, Cedric Diggory sending up rescue sparks for her. Viktor Krum almost reached the end, but stopped when he came face to face with a Bogart, in the form of a dozen Inferi clawing after him. As for Cedric, he was only a few yards behind Neville. Cedric had told everyone that he and Neville had reached the turn to the cup at the same time, and had decided to settle the winner in a race. Cedric was winning, but a root shifted under his feet, and he fell forward. When he looked up, Neville had just grabbed the cup.

Then, Neville Longbottom vanished.

It had been three years since anyone had seen any trace of him. Augusta refused to accept that her grandson might be dead, and there were still a few students that held onto hope, mostly Ron and Hermione, but Dumbledore did not share their faith. He couldn't hold onto another unrealistic dream only to tear himself apart again when he found it was a lie. And a lie it was, if his information from Severus was anything to go on. Severus had gone to Dumbledore many times that year, voicing his concern over his mark, and the dark mark of Igor Karkaroff as well. They were growing darker, darker than they had in thirteen years. Dumbledore listened, but had no way of knowing what was happening, much less how to stop it, so he overlooked the marks and focused back on his searching.

Then the night of the final challenge, when Neville Longbottom went missing, Severus came to him. He came to Dumbledore, eyes wide with fear, to tell him that the Dark Lord was _back_. Dumbledore understood that fear, it was something he knew was coming for some time, but they were still so unprepared. Severus, although reluctantly, took back his position as a spy. Dumbledore understood his hesitation entirely, it _should_ be difficult for a man to pretend to go back to serving a megalomaniac Dark Lord who murdered the most important person in your life. As for Albus Dumbledore, he went to reform the Order of the Phoenix. But even after three years, their numbers were minuscule, consisting mostly of Hogwarts staff and a handful of Aurors. All they could really do was stave off a few raids here and there and keep a few extra guards around the Hall of Prophecies. And that still hadn't stopped Bellatrix Lestrange from breaking in and taking the prophecy! She marched right in, by herself, armed only with a wand and Nagini, Voldemort's snake. As for how she left with the orb, It was such a trivial loophole. So trivial, yet so brilliant. Bellatrix couldn't pick up the orb, but she could move the shelf it was on. So she did, and levitated it in a bag complete with featherlight and invisible extension charms, and walked right out the front door with it. She had attacked at the perfect time, the only guard on duty was Arthur Weasley.

He died in St. Mungos a few days later.

The order had been a wreck for weeks, partly because of how beloved Arthur was, and partly because a great deal of the Weasley's were members themselves. Most of the order in grieving, but Dumbledore couldn't stop now. There was the matter of the prophecy, the prophecy which Voldemort now _knew_. They _couldn't _defeat Voldemort without the chosen one, and Voldemort knew that. There was no way the Death Eaters would rest until they took care of the one threat to their master's life. But fortunately, though a small fortune it was, as the wall before Albus reminded him every day, no one could find him. No one.

Perhaps that was why he kept the wall there. So many of his mistakes had already been overlooked; his friendship with, and love for, Gellert, the death, possible murder, of Arianna, his broken relationship with Aberforth, the obsession with power he discovered in his youth, all of them had been ignored. But not this. And so this wall, in all it's slanderous glory, was his daily reminder that another failure would only be looked down further on. That the next day, he _had _to succeed.

But he couldn't. Albus wasn't a fool anymore, He knew he couldn't win. The most maddening part of it all was that there really was nothing Albus could do about it. There were no witnesses to the night Voldemort returned, save for his inner circle of Death Eaters, and they weren't going to start talking anytime soon. The public wouldn't listen to a lone wizard claiming he was back, even if he still had his popularity, and Severus couldn't do anything without compromising both his position as a spy and his life. The Order couldn't storm the Death Eaters now, not only were they outnumbered at least two hundred to one, but they had no was of knowing where they were.

Albus sighed, and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. He still hadn't. He knew he couldn't anymore.

Time was running out, and he knew it. In another week, Harry James Potter would turn seventeen. Once the boy came of age, the blood protection Lily had left behind would disappear, and Harry would be completely defenseless. Who knew if Harry Potter knew any magic at all, if he even knew there was a massive army hunting him down? Albus doubted very much that the boy did, and feared he would be killed by Death Eaters like a lamb to the slaughter.

Albus suspected that blood protection had a great deal to do with Harry's inability to be found, but as soon as the boy turned seventeen, anyone would be able to find him. Undoubtedly, thanks to all their Ministry connections and infiltrations, the Army of the Dark Lord would have a significant advantage. The order would have to work quickly to find him, but the Death Eaters would most likely have already found him before the Order even knew what part of the country to search. Albus kept his head tilted towards the domed ceiling and began shaking. Without a miracle, the war was as good as lost, and the light had been short on miracles for some time. The man once hailed as the most powerful wizard alive let out a chocked sob, thinly veiled in a delirious laugh.

Come July Thirtieth, Harry James Potter was as good as dead.

**~X~**

The Market Coffee House on Brushfield and Crispin Street was usually a hot spot for local college students to study and grab a quick bite. But today, it was unusually quiet. Perhaps it wasn't so unusual though. It was July, and most of their regular customers would be on Summer Holiday. So today, the patrons of the cozy corner-set shop were mostly tourists, visiting with their families. There were only a handful of customers today, so having three employees on the clock did seem a little excessive, especially for such a small shop, but regardless, they were happy to have each other for company.

Tabitha, a tall blonde girl of twenty, who in spite of her impressive height still felt the need to wear heels, walked back and forth across the floor, stopping at tables to ask if anyone needed anything, or checking that their service was alright. There were only three people present, so this didn't take long at all. Alex, the store's twenty-one year old sports enthusiast and, as his co-workers jokingly called him, the "token black guy", was standing behind the bar trying to make shapes in coffee by pouring cream into the cup in different patterns. Earlier that week he had seen an article about a barista a few blocks away who could make anything from faces to chrysanthemums, but so far Alex had yet to achieve anything other than a puddle of coffee and cream running halfway down the counter. And Harry, Harry stood a few feet to the left of Alex, chuckling as Alex let out an exasperated sigh and went to wipe up the mess for the seventh time that hour.

'

"Come on Alex, if you waste any more of that, you're going to get us both fired." Harry laughed. Alex smirked and rolled his eyes in reply.

"Right, because anyone would actually fire someone as dashing and charming as me. Isn't that right Tabs? " He leaned back against the counter and called out to Tabitha, knowing that calling her pet name would drive her insane.

"Not going to happen, Alex." She snapped without looking up. It seemed cold, but Harry knew their teasing was in good fun. Alex had wanted to go out with Tabitha for months, but she wasn't interested in the slightest. So their arrangement was that Alex would constantly flirt and ask her out, and she would always shoot him down. Somehow, they still considered each other friends through all this. Harry laughed at their exchange.

'

"Seriously mate, move on, she's not interested." Harry repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. They both smiled though, knowing he wouldn't.

Harry was petite and wiry framed, which led him to look younger than his almost seventeen years, with unnaturally messy black hair that was never longer than four inches, and shockingly green eyes that people commonly mistook for colored contact lenses. They were always the first thing people noticed about him, the second being the strange scar on his forehead, which oddly resembled a lightning bolt. Harry came across to customers and co-workers alike as being relaxed and at ease with the world, laughing whenever the chance arrived. Really, with his carefree personality, it was impossible to think that he had spent years on the streets.

Harry always considered it a small miracle that nobody recognized him. He could still remember the panic that coursed through him the day after he turned seven, and he found the news article claiming he was an arsonist. How could that have been possible? He didn't even know Number Four Privet Drive was on fire! He spent months trying to figure out how that fire could have started, but none of it ever made sense, so he had pushed it to the back of his mind. Aside from that, the Dursley's thought he was disturbed? It wasn't the claims about him being mad that scared him though, it was the photograph. His face had been on the breakfast table of nearly every family on London, there was no way he wouldn't be seen! And once he was, he knew he'd be sent back to the Dursley's. If they really thought he caused that fire, then there was no way he could ever go back.

Harry had spent his first week on his own in an almost continuous panic, only letting up when he slept. He could still remember it, vividly. The smell of the alley he slept in was something like vomit and alcohol, and the loud thumping bass of the music behind him kept him up for hours. He was desperate, desperate to prove that he could live, and desperate to stay as far away from Little Whinging as possible. Thinking back on that now, he probably shouldn't have stayed in London, but regardless, Harry was glad he did. London was busy, transient, there was always somewhere new to stay, someone new who didn't recognize you. The strange part was, no one seemed to recognize him. Someone could be looking right at him, and pass by as if they were looking at the wall instead. And if anyone did stop to talk to him, mostly to ask where his parents where, they didn't know who he was. And if they did, they showed no signs of recognition.

Harry was snapped back into the present as he attempted to stifle a yawn. Alex looked over and punched him teasingly in the arm.

"Heh, lot of sleepless nights Potter? Nice, you dog." Harry laughed.

"Right, you know I've just been going _crazy_ lately. You know, parties, girls, drinks, the usua- oh wait, never mind that's all you." Alex feigned offense, and replied in an over-dramatic fashion.

"I'll have you know, I've been a perfect gentleman. I haven't been to any clubs or parties in almost a week-"

"And we all know how hard that's got to be on you!"

The two of them laughed for a moment, before an uncharacteristically somber tone came over Alex. He became very quiet, and leaned back against the counter.

"So, have you been sleeping alright? You're not… you're not having those dreams again, are you?" Alex looked over at his petite co-worker, who was now looking down. Harry paused for a moment before speaking, looking up to see that Tabitha wasn't within earshot.

"I- I suppose I am, yeah. They're not too bad, they just, make it harder to get to sleep, that's all." Harry turned his attention back to his feet. One of his shoelaces was untied, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. Alex shook his head, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You need help, mate."

Harry silently agreed. He'd known that since he was fourteen, and the dreams started. No, scratch that, he'd known he needed help since he was eleven, but that wasn't something he liked thinking about.

There was something about the dreams that just, never made sense. They weren't like other dreams, they were hyper-realistic, and afterwards, he could remember _every last_ detail. Also, he knew he wasn't creative enough to imagine half the stuff in them, so how the ideas came into his mind, he had no idea.

The biggest thing about the dreams was that in them, Harry was never portrayed as himself. Yes, it seemed normal enough to imagine yourself as a different person, but the same one every time? And from what Harry had imagined, this wasn't someone he would consider an alter ego. Everything about him gave Harry a bad feeling, from his milky jade skin to his commanding, almost hissing tone, to his eyes, a shade of crimson that looked more suited for a terrible poison than for a face.

Even the name he invented was chilling; _Voldemort_.

Harry wasn't sure where he got the name from. He could remember every detail from the dreams, and no one had ever called him Voldemort. They either called him the Dark Lord or they were running away screaming. But somehow, he knew what to call the cloaked man. Although, that should have made sense. After all, he had imagined all this, right? It only made sense that he would know things that weren't explained.

When Harry was "dreaming" that he was Voldemort, he was always doing unexplainable things. That much felt like a regular dream, the part where he had no idea how it started, he just jumped into the story. He was commanding an army, an army of loyal followers, bent on taking over the world. Sometimes he was leading them out into battle, sometimes he was discussing tactics in a meeting with some sort of Inner circle. He assumed it was an inner circle of sorts, since it was the same people every time; a tall, aristocratic man with long blonde hair, a wild eyed woman with even wilder black curls who, from what Harry had witnesses, enjoyed torturing people, a man who Harry assumed was her husband, another with greasy black hair and a hooked nose, who nobody seemed to really trust, and a few others who weren't very recognizable. But he knew their names; Malfoy, Lestrange and Lestrange, Snape, Nott, Yaxley, Rookwood and Dolohov.

The worst of the dreams perhaps, was when he imagined he was Voldemort _alone_, with a single goal in mind. The alter ego was ruthless, and once his mind was set to something, he never gave up. Never. Whatever he was looking for, nobody ever spoke it. All Harry really knew was anyone in his way would die. The man would just point a stick at them, how this constituted as a weapon, he wasn't sure, but it terrified him, and speak two words. They sounded something like, "avada kedavra", and then his vision would flood with brilliant green light, the same shade as his eyes. When the light settled, whoever was before him would be in mid fall, dead before they hit the ground.

Strangely enough, there were also times when he almost seemed, vulnerable, if that word was even applicable to the man, which Harry very much doubted. But nonetheless, sometimes Harry would catch glimpses of a small boy, shunned by everyone no matter where he went, and though he would feel nothing, he would remember how it used to hurt. Harry would almost sympathize with the figment of him imagination. Then, Voldemort would stand back up and kill another.

It bothered Harry how many people he killed.

It bothered him more that, while it was occurring at least, he _wanted_ to kill them. His emotions, he wasn't in control of them when he was asleep. When he thought of it that way, it didn't sound so bad, but when he woke up in the middle of the night, prepared to lunge forward and attack whoever might be in front of him a fraction of a second earlier, that was terrifying. Even on the rare occasion that he wasn't Voldemort, he wanted to kill. Usually when he wasn't the red eyed lord, he was a snake. A massive, black serpent, with the same single minded sense of focus.

The last time he had been the snake, he was fifteen. Harry was slithering down a hallway, besides the mad woman who enjoyed torture. The hallway was completely black, not from darkness, but from the color of the tile. It must have been late, since it was nearly empty, but he could _smell_ another man there. Harry could still remember the frustration he felt for not being able to tell Lestrange sooner. She was in a hurry, a hurry to get to the door. There was something behind it, something she wanted, and he wanted it too. The duo of woman and snake rounded a corner, only to come face to face with a middle aged red-head, pointing a similar stick to the ones everyone else bore. The woman beside him cackled, her maniacal laughter echoing throughout the department, and motioned for Harry to attack him. Harry remembered being happy for the opportunity, he could recall what it felt like to feel his serpentine body lunge forward, for his fangs to sink into the man's flesh. Once, twice, thrice, he just kept biting. The man beneath him began seizing, thrashing back and forth, foam coming out his mouth, and Harry had thought it was _funny_.

He woke up seconds later screaming.

Perhaps there was a part of him somewhere, however, that respected this alter ego. His invention did horrible things; killed without mercy or thought, condemned entire groups to die, "muggles", he called them, and aside from rage, pride, and arrogance, seemed not to know many emotions. But he stood his ground. He had a plan, a goal, and he knew what he was doing. Harry still didn't know what he was doing with his life. For him, it was a step up just to be out of the shelter and sharing a flat with someone, and he'd only moved in a few months ago! Harry would tell himself that his dreams were just his subconscious telling him to figure his life out, but he never believed that. If this was just the result of a few head games, than none of the other things would happen.

Like his scar; his scar _shouldn't_ start burning every time he woke up. And even when he wasn't sleeping, if he was just at work, or playing soccer with Alex and Nikolai, sometimes it would flare up. Harry knew the scar was completely unrelated to the dreams. His dreams hadn't started bothering him until he was fourteen, his scar had been occasionally flaring since he was eleven. Mind you, before he was fourteen, the pain was only the occasional prickle, a bit unpleasant, but in the end it was nothing. Since the dreams started the pain had become a lot worse. And like the images of his mind, his scar seemed to have a way of hijacking his emotions; he could be incredibly happy, then his scar would burn and for a moment, he'd want to hurt whoever was in front of him. Or he could be completely miserable, and the next thing he knew, poof, burn, and he was laughing almost insanely. Yes, Alex knew about the dreams, even if only a little bit, but Harry had never told anyone about his scar before. People were already concerned enough for him as it was, he didn't want any more attention.

Harry hated to think about it, more than anything else in the world, but the scar and the dreams still weren't the weirdest things about him. And the more time he spent thinking about it, the more he became sure the Dursley's were aware of it; after all, why else would they hate him so much? They were right, he never was _normal_. When he was a kid, it was easy to pretend he wasn't the source of it, but that illusion was shattered pretty harshly.

His first few years on the streets, before he started staying at the shelters, he always found a way to stay alive. It was a time in Harry's life that he would do almost anything to survive; steal, cheat, lie, but he still knew that he shouldn't have made it. He should have been found be the police and taken back to Privet Drive, or locked in an insane asylum. But Harry was still here, against all odds. He usually credited it to luck, but one person could only have so much of that. Not enough to explain never being recognized, by _anyone_, to explain waking up in the morning and finding things next to him that he needed, things that certainly weren't there the night before, and usually they were things he had been eyed the day before, like food, new shoes, or medicine. Whenever Harry had been desperate enough to try pick-pocketing, he was never seen. _Ever_. Even if he was so clumsy that he ran right into his victim, they never said anything. And luck definitely didn't explain his affinity for snakes, like how whenever he was lost, one would show up, he would follow it, and somehow the snake would know exactly where he was going.

Luck didn't explain the burning, either.

Harry was certain he had caused three fires in his life. Those fired were the final straw, the event that made him realize that coincidence couldn't possibly explain everything that happened around him, that _he_ was the cause of everything.

Harry wasn't sure how to explain it; the best he could think of, was that whenever he was too scared, or he couldn't think of any other escape, everything around him would just, go up in flames.

The first fire, he was certain, had been the Dursley's. He had finally pieced that together after he realized he could do these things, when he was eleven. Harry knew the Dursley's knew he caused it too, even if Harry didn't understand how.

The second fire was when he was nine. It was dark out, and fairly cold too. Harry was pretty sure it had been September. He had been heading back to the alley he stayed in the night before, but two men came up behind him; one of the men reeked of alcohol, the other of cigarettes. Harry didn't like the way they looked at him, it reminded him of how a wolf would look at a rabbit. One of them was about to speak when Harry was overcome by panic, and the next thing he knew every dumpster on the block was aflame. The man who smelled like alcohol jumped, and the other began looking frantically back and forth for the source. Harry didn't think, he just ran.

He was pretty sure once he was out of that alley, he heard an explosion. That should have been enough, but Harry had only been nine, he was still young and naive. He didn't even know what the two men wanted at the time, and recalling that memory now, it was pretty obvious what they were after.

No, he had still been unwilling to accept it, and it took Harry a few more years to figure it out. That was the fire when he was eleven.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts. He shuddered; that was something he really didn't want to remember. _Just, just focus on something else, anything else_, he told himself. There was a stain on the tile floor next to Harry's left foot. It looked a bit like Australia, He thought, and forced himself to smile a little. He laughed a little.

"Alex, I know I do. But, but can we not talk about it now? Besides, I think they're getting better."

Alex looked at him reluctantly, but nodded in agreement. He wasn't the type to push people, anyways. The shop was completely empty now, and an eerie silence came over them. Fortunately, Tabitha came over to break it.

"Hey, are you boys done slacking off? It's Sunday, remember? We close early. So, which of you gentlemen wants to clean the floor, and who wants to count down the drawers while I text my girlfriends as payback for you two not doing anything for the last hour and a half?" She smirked, clearly amused with herself. Alex and Harry groaned in stereo.

It was two hours later that the shop closed. Harry had agreed to mop if Alex would handle the registers. Alex was happy to get to stay behind the counter, and Harry was happy to not have to explain how terrible he was at maths. The atmosphere had been distinctly lighter, with Tabitha constantly reading texts out loud to get a laugh out of them. Really, it was ridiculous the things girls talked about when boys weren't around. Harry wasn't sure he could repeat even half of them without blushing. Alex spoke, breaking Harry's thoughts.

"So, it's almost the end of the month. I guess that means Nikolai's going to want rent, huh?" They looked at each other seriously for a moment, before Alex put on a ridiculously goofy grin and Harry snorted in an attempt to suppress a laugh.

"Come on, you know he doesn't care. I mean, how lucky are we to share a flat with a guy who calls us his 'leeches' without even a hint of resentment? It's great!" The two of them shared another laugh.

Nikolai was a Russian student studying art in England. He came from a ridiculously wealthy family that let him do whatever he wanted. So Nikolai wouldn't have to stay on campus, his parents had purchased an enormous flat for him, with four bedrooms and two full baths. It was clearly too much for one person on his own, but that was just the way Nikolai's family was.

Alex had met Nikolai about a year after he arrived in London. It was at some club downtown, Harry couldn't remember the names of all of them. The two of them had hit it off, literally, when Alex had hit Nikolai for flirting with the girl we has dating at the time. The two of them got into a fight, not a very serious one, but serious enough that Alex supposedly had a shiner for two weeks. After a few minutes, they stopped fighting long enough to see Alex's "girlfriend" dancing with some other guy. The two of them started laughing, and within the next ten minutes considered each other friends. A few months after that, Alex was kicked out of his parent's place, and Nikolai invited him to share the apartment. Harry came into the picture about a year ago, when he started working at the Coffee Shop. The owner was concerned about Harry's application, since it didn't show any school records, parent contacts, or even a street address. Harry had, quite reluctantly, told him that he ran away when he was younger, and had been on him own ever since. He refused to say more than that. Apparently, and shockingly satisfied, the owner had hired Harry on the spot, and convinced Alex to let Harry join in the flat. Alex didn't know about Harry running away though, he just thought there were some problems at home and Harry couldn't stay there.

So, for the last six months or so, Alex and Harry had been leeches together. When Alex had started living with Nikolai, he insisted that he had to pay rent. Nikolai didn't need it, and really didn't care, but he told Alex that if it made him feel better, he could pay what he could every month. That meant that though Harry and Alex never actually _did _pay him anything, they could keep their dignity, in a sort of funny, moronic way.

The two of them kept talking and laughing on their way back. It wasn't terribly late, so they reached the complex before sunset was even half completed. It was a large, classically styled building that one only had to look at for a few seconds before they knew only the ridiculously opulent lived here. It was a nine story building, with Victorian molding around the doors and in between each floor, and about twelve steps before the front entrance. As they went up the stairs, Harry turned back. It was mesmerizing, really, how many colors the sky could show. This time of day was always his favorite, when streams of red and orange would streak across the sky, illuminating the London skyline.

A small nagging in the back of Harry's mind reminded him that in a week, he would turn seventeen. He turned back to the door and thought for a moment. He hadn't celebrated his birthday, ever. There had never really been a point before, he wasn't even sure he'd told anyone when it was. A smile crept across his face as he reached for the door.

Perhaps this year, he would.

**~X~**

**Ok, so before you kill me, please keep in mind. The OC's are NOT IMPORTANT. I need them there to explain Harry's life, and to give him someone to interact with, show his personality a bit. They will not last long in the story, maybe another chapter or two, tops. I only planned on having two OCs, Alex and Nikolai, but Tabitha just popped in my head, and I thought the coffee shop needed another person to make the scene work.**

**Also, YES, that is a real coffee shop! I saw a picture of it, and looked it up on Google maps. So that really is the location! I've never been to London, so if anyone out there has, and has visited that shop, tell me what it's like! It looks so cute!**

**on a final note, I'm taking a lot of freedom with the interpretation of the trace. It will be explained more later, but I'm choosing to assume it's monitored and controlled by the Department of Mysteries, since so little is known about it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again everyone! I want to start by saying thank you to everyone who favorited, alerted, or reviewed these first two chapters. You really don't know how amazing I feel when I check my inbox, and see that you guys actually want more, it's exhilarating! I also want to take this moment to thank my new BETA, ****LadyofLilacs****, both for being a fan and offering advice when I need it. But, enough of this crap, you came here for an update, right? Ok!**

**Note: Really, I don't own this. Isn't that obvious?**

**Note #2 : Review fill my soul with happiness. My soul is so empty, wouldn't you like to fill it?**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_There's someone inside me that softly kills everyone around  
>They don't know they're dead to me cause intent never makes a sound<em>

**~X~**

The morning of July 31st came faster than Harry had expected. Usually, this week would drag along, like any other summer week, but perhaps since he was actually excited this time, time didn't feel like making him wait any longer than need be. Harry sat up in his bed and took a moment to embrace the situation: he was seventeen, and he was about to celebrate his birthday for the first time in memory. True, he hadn't bothered telling anyone else, but Harry knew what today was. That was all that mattered. He didn't want his roommates, and more importantly, his friends, to feel like they needed to make a fuss over him.

The boy looked up and ran his fingers through his unruly black curls, laughing a bit to himself. He had slept later than he planned to; the fourth-floor room was already bathed in sunlight. Despite being the smallest bedroom in the flat, it was ridiculously big. He thought keeping the furniture simple would diminish the size a bit, but somehow it only made the space look larger. Harry climbed out of bed, stretched for a moment, and began fumbling across the nightstand for his glasses. After a few moments of what would have been hilarious to any onlooker, he found them. Vision restored, the alarm clock by the bed was clear as day. It was 10:32, definitely later than he was planning on sleeping. Harry managed a grin that was somehow both cheeky and embarrassed before deciding to get dressed.

Yes, it was almost noon, but it was Saturday. Harry doubted anyone else would be up, especially not when he considered how late the trio had been up last night. Nikolai had been up late every night for the last two weeks, trying to finish a sculpture for school. From what Harry could tell, Nikolai _hated_ art school. The Russian student was a brilliant artist, and had made some of the coolest abstract sculptures Harry had ever seen, but Nikolai was an artist because it was what he wanted. And he hated having to sculpt whatever the school told him too. So, instead of working on his abstract series inspired by the seven deadly sins, he was stuck doing a three-dimensional study on human anatomy. He had been up well past midnight every night now, and Harry suspected last night had been no different. As for Alex, he and Harry had stayed up playing Final Fantasy well past sunset. It was more Alex's hobby than Harry's, really, and Harry actually found the game to be pretty pointless and stupid, but after a few drinks, anything was funny.

Having finally fished out a clean pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt, Harry left his room and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. His scar stung a little, but instead of the usual pain or anger, it left him with a feeling of excitement and anticipation, a welcome change.

Something was off, Harry noticed; the hallway was unnaturally silent. If Alex were still asleep, like Harry suspected, then he should be snoring like a buzz-saw from behind the door to Harry's left. But the room was completely silent. This wouldn't have bothered Harry usually, except that the rest of the flat was silent as well. Nikolai was a pretty quiet guy, usually sculpting or reading a book, but he was almost always blasting techno music and Alex was always trying to crack a joke. If the two were up, everyone on the floor would know. Harry leaned forward to check the rest of the hall; it was eerily still. He slid a foot across the floor, and nudged the door to Alex's room open. The lights were off, but there was enough external light available to make it clear that the room was empty. At least the bed was a mess; that much was normal.

Harry's heart was pounding against his ribcage. Sure, Alex was a bit of a skirt chaser, and yes, Nikolai could be a bit arrogant at times, but neither of them, at least to Harry's knowledge, had ever done _anything_ that would lead someone to break in and hurt them. Harry's mind wandered back to all the people he had stolen from or fought with over the last few years. If someone had broken in, it was _his_ fault.

_Alex and Nikolai are in trouble_, he kept repeating over and over in his head. Harry used that mantra to clear any fear from his system, and went back to his original goal: to head to the kitchen. If he was going to find a weapon, it would be in there. As silently as possible, he placed one foot before the other, and again, and again. His heart was still pounding, dreading what he might find in there. Suddenly, Harry froze; there was sound coming from the oncoming room. First, a chair being pushed, and then footsteps. From what Harry could make out, there were two people. Green eyes wide with panic, he kept going, his back against the wall. Only a few more steps. His pulse was banging in his ears now. He needed a plan, a plan. Two steps left. Nothing had come to mind, so he decided to make this up as he went. Slowly, Harry turned towards the doorway, mentally preparing himself to enter the room. He took a deep breath, and the final step.

"Surprise!"

The boy was stopped in the doorway in shock. Instead of being greeted by a couple of thugs, or the corpses of his roommates, he was greeted with a neon-green party favor buzzing in his face and a handful of confetti. Alex and Nikolai were standing in front of him, waiting for a reaction. Harry blinked a few times, and then started laughing.

"Hah, you guys! God, you nearly gave me a heart attack there! Ha-wait, heh, how did you even know it was today?" Harry managed between breaths. Nikolai smirked and pushed his blonde shoulder length curls behind his ear.

"Vat do you zink? Your boss told Alex, and he of course told me. Really, ve've been waiting all veek for you to say somezing," he replied, slipping into his thick Russian accent. Harry was still confused.

"What? But, how did he know? I didn't tell him either..." Alex laughed

"You had to put your birthday on the job application, remember mate? Really, you can be thick sometimes, heh. But, moving past your thick-headedness, we have a big day planned!" He stalked over and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder, dragging him over to a memo board pinned to the refrigerator, reading 'Whoopdie-Friggin-Doo It's Your Birthday - Plans', followed by a numbered list if things to do that day. Harry chuckled. Alex began pointing at the list excitedly.

"Alright then! So, first is pig out on doughnuts. It's almost noon, but Nikolai and I already bought them, so we stick to the list! After that, we head on out of here, and-" Alex didn't notice as Harry stopped listening. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking back and forth between Alex and Nikolai. Just the thought that they would plan the whole day out was incredible to him. Whatever they had planned specifically, he didn't care. It was the fact that they were celebrating together that mattered.

All in all, Harry just knew today would be brilliant.

**~X~**

Somehow, the man just knew today would be hell.

Despite the advice given by his superiors, and his numerous attempts at "normalcy" (as if any of this could be considered normal), the aristocrat still stood out drastically from the filth that surrounded him. The crowd around the man was made up of tourists in obnoxious tee-shirts, slacker teenagers, clueless parents letting their children practically run in the street, and several couples who obviously had never heard of getting a room. He felt nauseous, though whether that was from his surroundings, or his nerves, he couldn't tell. The man turned up his nose and continued towards his destination, a certain red phone booth.

He was dressed in a three-piece suit, all black naturally, with a silver clip holding back his long, partly-silver partly-blond hair. What little wasn't pulled back framed his sharp, aristocratic features with perfection. He felt practically naked without a traveling cloak on, but, it was all for the sake of blending in with the _muggles_. It was disgusting, having to lower himself to their level. Why should he? He was part of the higher power, was he not? It was already insult enough that he had to use the visitor entrance to the Ministry today, but he also had to dress as a muggle? Not likely; this was as close as the man would ever go. He didn't understand why he needed to be at the ministry today, the situation clearly was under control. But no, his first day off in months, and he had to spend it in the Ministry of Magic, working on another mission.

The tall aristocrat reached the phone booth and sneered. It was thoroughly disgusting; the tile floor was filthy, the phone and glass were covered in fingerprints, and there was even gum stuck to the bottom of the dial box. Gum, really.

"Muggles, how utterly delightful," the man muttered under his breath, every word dripping with sarcasm. He dialed the slightly unfamiliar five-number code, trying not to think about the filth that had handled the phone before him. He couldn't even bring himself to place the device against his ear, lest it might infect him with whatever muggles were carrying these days, and chose to hold the phone a good three inches from his ear. Before he had time to shudder, or vomit, he wasn't sure which, a pleasant female voice came from the phone.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Lucius Malfoy, visitor, meeting a comrade at the Department of Mysteries." Comrade was the best word the Malfoy head could think of to describe his accomplice, since they only shared a mild tolerance for each other. There was a faint "chinking" sound in the booth, as a metal name badge was dispensed from the dial box. It read,

_Lucius Malfoy, Visitor, D.o.M. Clearance_

At least the machine could do its job; one thing had gone right that day. The red booth began shaking as the streets of London came to level with Lucius's eyes, before vanishing completely.

"Thank you, Visitor. Please place your name badge where it is clearly visible, and have a pleasant day."

The booth stopped, revealing a large, sky-lit atrium. The tile in the atrium was all black, reflecting the green flames that appeared every now and again from the line of Floo tunnels running long the walls. Paper planes flew of their own accord through the air, darting back and forth across the massive golden "M" in the center of the room and casting narrow shadows across the floor, and the atrium was filled with witches and wizards, running back and forth to deliver papers, check people in, and Merlin only knew what else. Lucius couldn't bring himself to care. The crowds around him may have been insects, or at least invisible; the only thing that mattered was getting to the Department of Mysteries. Of course he knew the way; he had spent months studying its layout a few years ago. But the mission he was on now couldn't be more different than two years ago, he hadn't even been _sent_ then.

Lucius sneered again, this time to himself. That should have been a simple mission: break into the Department, find the prophecy room, get the prophecy on row 37, and leave. Lucius knew he could have done it without any problems, but no. His Lordship had chosen to send Lucius's sister-in-law, accompanied by that blasted snake. And what had happened? Yes, Bellatrix had obtained the prophecy, and even killed a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a Weasley, he had been delighted to learn. But then, she left with so little care that she ran face first into a group of Aurors! Yes, she got away, but she dropped her bag in the struggle, and when she returned to give their lord the orb, it was nothing more than dust. The only positive was that the Order believed them to be successful in their venture, believed that the Dark Lord knew the contents in full detail.

While distracted by his thoughts, Lucius had already reached the Department in question. He turned past the empty hallway that Arthur Weasley had died in, feeling probably more pleased than he should have, and approached the door to the Trace Office. This was where he would meet his accomplice of the day, Augustus Rookwood. How the man managed to be in the Dark Lord's inner circle and still maintain a position as a spy with the Unspeakables was beyond Lucius, but he supposed it was no different than being an inner circle Death Eater and also a business man, Wizengamot member, and chairman on the Hogwarts Board of Governers. Lucius cleared his mind, now was not the time to think about his own problems. He had a job to accomplish, or everyone he held dear would die.

The door to the Trace Office was probably the least conspicuous of the department. It was a simple, solid oak door with a brass handle and a matching brass plaque set at eye level that read "Office of Trace Monitoring." It was the most well-known development of the Department of Mysteries, so unlike the prophecy hall or the death chamber, there was no need to even try and conceal it. The Trace Office was where most Unspeakables began training, so Lucius was concerned when Rookwood, one of the most experienced here, asked to be transferred here, on their Lord's orders of course. Fortunately, the head of the department had let him move without so much as a second thought.

Lucius took a deep breath and a moment to check his composure before opening the door. As he expected Rookwood was already there, watching the map intently. He didn't look up or show any other signs of noticing the Malfoy's appearance. Lucius was startled when the fellow Death Eater cleared his throat.

"You're late. I expected you twenty minutes ago."

"Yes, well I'm not accustomed to taking the visitors entrance. I can assure you, I never plan on taking it again."

"Why not use the Floo Network?"

"It's easier to trace, and you heard the Dark Lord's orders. _No one_ outside our circle can know about this."

Rookwood looked at him snidely.

"So you took a name badge?"

"You know as well as I do they never check the registry!"

Rookwood snorted, but accepted that it was the best answer he would get out of the aristocrat. Lucius walked around Augustus's seat and took his own. Before them on the wall was a map of Britain, spanning at least fifteen feet across. Most of the map was gray, but parts of it were glowing a soft blue, the blue representing magical communities across the country. The rest of the room was covered in more maps, each one showing a more detailed portion of Britain. Dancing across each map, light fireflies, were little white dots; on the large map, they were non-existent, but on the detailed ones, each dot represented an underage witch or wizard, wherever they may be. At least, it represented them so long as they had the Trace. Usually the office was used to monitor underage wizards; if one of them performed magic outside of Hogwarts, their dot would glow red, and an owl would be sent. On midnight the day they came of age, their dot would flare for a moment, before vanishing completely. No one had any idea if anything would appear in the absence of the trace. At least, they hadn't until almost two months ago.

"Have you spotted anything yet?" Lucius barely managed. Rookwood remained focused on the map in front of him.

"We shouldn't expect it to show up for about another hour. All I've done is eliminate a few maps."

The two fell back into silence. Not another word would be spoken until either of them saw something. There were still dozens of maps to watch, and Lucius couldn't afford to miss this. He was watching for the most insignificant of phenomena; a soft, almost invisible dot, somewhere in the country, that would tell them the exact location of one Harry James Potter. They expected it to appear at 1:47, assuming their copy of the birth certificate was accurate. But they still had no idea where it would appear, and it would only show up for a moment. Lucius shuddered as he remembered how they figured this out. Draco had been the Dark Lord's control set.

Perhaps Draco had been picked out of convenience, perhaps he was picked as a warning to Lucius, but most likely, Draco had probably been selected as a punishment for failing to kill Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Lucius never blamed Draco for running, he was only a child! He never wanted his only son to become a killer, much less a Death Eater! But nothing could be done about that now, and when their Lord was angry, someone always was punished.

Draco had run away from Hogwarts a month before he was due to finish his sixth year. Lucius was still haunted by the way his son's face had appeared, sleepless and terrified, still damp from crying. He had been hysterical; he knew he had failed, and didn't know why he returned. Lucius could only thank all his gods that Draco wasn't killed upon returning, but perhaps what faced him instead was worse.

When the Dark Lord had learned that Draco was back, and he had learned quickly, he decided that the best he could do was both destroy Draco and make use of him one last time. The Dark Lord had forcibly removed the Trace from Draco - how he did, Lucius didn't know. He hadn't been allowed in the room at the time, but that didn't stop him from hearing his son's screams from the other end of Malfoy Manor. He had no doubt that the Dark Lord could remove Traces with minimal effort and in a matter of seconds, but he seemed to revel in making the process hurt as much as possible. Lucius could only imagine what the boy went through; his son still wouldn't speak to anyone, and could only barely make eye contact with Lucius and Narcissa. He spent most of his time these days locked in his room, only visited by his parents and a few house elves, staring out the window.

About a month later, Draco's birthday had passed. He turned seventeen on June fifth, precisely at 3:14 in the afternoon. Rookwood had been previously informed to watch the maps in the Trace Office, and keep an eye on Malfoy Manor. Just as the Dark Lord had suspected, there was a ping on the map, showing Draco for barely a second before vanishing completely. The same surely would happen with Potter, and they would have his exact location. If not, they would always have the large map to get an approximation. If they didn't see it there, Rookwood and Lucius were as good as dead.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Rookwood would probably be subjected to the Cruciatus curse for some time, but he would ultimately live. Lucius knew he had all but almost completely spent his usefulness. He only remained in the Dark Lord's inner circle because he knew too much, and he was only still alive because of his political position. Rookwood could easily handle this mission on his own. Lucius was only here to be _supervised_.

The hour ticked by, each second seeming slower than the last. Lucius didn't know how much time had passed and didn't dare look at his pocket watch for fear that he would miss it. Instinct told him that it was almost 1:16, the exact time Potter had been born, seventeen years ago. That was good enough for the Malfoy.

The air grew thick with anticipation. Rookwood watched the large map in anticipation, ready to shout whatever section of Britain he would appear in, so Lucius could find the detailed section, and in turn, Potter. The Malfoy's heart was racing, he would literally have less than a second to pinpoint the boy. He took a deep breath. The world seemed to still, everything became deathly silent. Everything but the ticking in his mind.

"Southeast Britain, London!" Rookwood cried suddenly. Lucius bolted up, the map of London a few feet to his left. He only saw it for a split second, he wasn't even sure he _had_ seen it. But, if there was a time to risk it, it was now or never. Still, the Malfoy head couldn't help but hesitate. He pointed where he believed to have seen the dot on the map.

"Right... right here."

**~X~**

The adrenaline was coursing through his system. All of his senses seemed to be heightened at that moment, for he noticed everything; the sun beating down from above, the sweat, dripping from his brow and running down the side of his glasses, the eerie silence, and how it was disrupted as a bee sipped by, but most importantly, the sound of footsteps against the grass. One step, two, then a kick. The black and white ball was sent hurling through the air by Nikolai's left foot, and Harry was off. Before Alex could react, Harry had control of the ball. He darted right, then left, then right again, keeping the ball between his legs, and moved past Alex. The next obstacle was Nikolai, who tried to kick the ball towards the other end of the field. He almost succeeded in knocking Harry over, but Harry was faster. That had always been his advantage in this game; Alex was the most tenacious, Nikolai was the most focused, but Harry always had speed on his side. He has passed Nikolai, and was about to score, his foot coming closer to the ball by the millisecond.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Alex ran up behind Harry, and just before Harry could make contact with the ball, Alex took possession. Harry could only watch as he fell to the ground, and Alex scored, again.

"Whoo! Yeah mates, that makes seven goals for me, I win!" Alex cheered, somewhat breathlessly as he went into what could only be described as an end-zone dance. Harry laughed, and got back to his feet. Nikolai had just jogged over, laughing breathlessly as well.

"Yes yes, you von, _again_. Now do you have to do zat? Really, zere are children around." There actually wasn't anyone around, save for themselves. Both the field and the adjacent streets were uncharacteristically empty, but none of them paid it any heed.

Soccer was an interesting game to play with three players, but they found a way to make it work. Instead of playing as two teams, they played as three individuals, with one goal. There were no goalies, no set positions, just three guys running around kicking a ball, and trying to stop each other from scoring. Usually, they would play to ten goals, but they decided to change the game parameters today, since it was Harry's seventeenth birthday.

Harry looked at his watch; it was two-twenty six. The trio had only been out for a few hours, but today had already been one of the best days of Harry's life. So far, they had wandered around downtown London, visited about a half dozen tourist sites, from Big Ben to the London Eye, stopped at a nearby pub to listen to some local bands, and played a wicked game of soccer. He wasn't sure today could get any better, and perhaps that bothered a part of him. If today couldn't get any better, then it could only get worse. But, before the thought could take root, Harry crushed it with a memory of the look on Nikolai's face from the top of the London Eye. It was hilarious, but really, how were they supposed to know he was terrified of heights?

Alex and Nikolai were bickering, trying to decide what to do next. Harry wasn't paying that much attention, but it sounded like a battle between going back to the pub to pick up girls, or heading back to the flat for a shower. Really, Nikolai worried too much about his hair; how he managed to get a girlfriend, Harry would never understand. But the argument between Alex and Nikolai didn't seem important anymore. Harry's attention was drawn towards the figure across the street, the one sitting outside the bookstore.

Harry knew the street had been completely empty just moments ago. The shop in question was lined perfectly between his roommates, and Harry's gaze hadn't changed directions once. He _would_ have noticed someone walk up, take a seat, and open a newspaper. Everything felt very unnatural about his presence, from his sudden appearance to the eerie sense of still he brought to the street. The sudden urge overcame Harry to see who the stranger was, and perhaps gain some insight to the strangeness of the situation. It was a horrible idea, every nerve in Harry's body was telling him not to, but that was the problem with being Harry; once an idea had latched down in his mind, it wouldn't let up until it was satisfied.

"Hey, why don't you guys just head back to the flat? We can figure it out from there, I'll catch up with you in a jiff," Harry said, interrupting their argument. The two snapped out of their little world and looked at him.

"Are you sure about that mate? If you need to take care of something, we can help." Alex suggested. Harry shook his head.

"It's nothing, I just...I have to do this on my own, sorry." He tilted his head a bit to the side, trying to convince them that leaving him along was no big deal. Nikolai spoke first.

"Alright, ve'll meet you back at ze flat. Promise to tell us vat you vere doing later, 'kay?" Harry nodded.

"I'll be fine guys, nothing to worry about."

Alex didn't look convinced, but he went along with it. He and Nikolai began their walk back to the bus stop.

Harry waited until they were out of sight before approaching the stranger. His anxiety didn't make sense, nor did the rapidity of his breathing. But something just felt wrong, like this man wasn't supposed to be there. If only he would lower his newspaper, maybe Harry could catch a glimpse of his face.

He took another step closer, now crossing the threshold into the street. His heart beat faster, another step. The scenario reminded him remarkably of his panic that morning, but this time, Harry thought it felt more real. The man cleared his throat and Harry stopped. The newspaper before the strangers face was folded in half, then halved again, and set in his lap.

Harry stared frozen at the man in a blend of shock and fear, eyes wide with panic. He knew exactly who this was, but, it didn't make any sense. He couldn't be dreaming now, could he? This felt too real to be a dream, but then again, they always did. Harry's green eyes were locked on the steel gray of the man on the bench, watching him with an unreadable expression. His heart beat faster and faster, Harry tried to calm his breathing, and prepared to run. None of this made any sense.

Malfoy was supposed to be a figment of his imagination.

**~X~**

Lucius knew that today, he was incredible lucky. The spot on the map he'd pointed to, he suspected, had been right. But the street they'd Apparated to was so crowded, there was no way of distinguishing anyone from anyone. So he and Rookwood split up to search this street and those surrounding it. Lucius knew it was incredible luck that he had found the boy, and had done so in little over an hour. He had found Potter playing that idiotic muggle sport with the black and white ball.

Potter was, to say the least, not what he had expected. When people talked about the Boy Who Lived, there was a certain appearance they had in mind: he was supposed to be tall and muscular, with sharp, powerful features and a scar that only added to his intimidation. Instead, he was thin and wiry framed, standing at maybe five-foot-four, and his scar, though apparent from even here, seemed awkwardly out of place on his delicate features. He seemed so fragile; Lucius wanted nothing more than to strike out and attack the boy now. But he couldn't risk alerting the Ministry there was anyone here be doing magic in front of muggles. There wasn't much he could do but wait for an opening.

Then the boy had practically done the job for him, and sent the muggles away. He should have known this was too easy, that something would go wrong, but the anticipation was too great. Lucius slid his wand from its holster on his forearm as discreetly as possible and folded the paper in quarters. The boy should have been at the field still, but he was standing maybe ten feet away from him. Lucius hadn't even heard him move, much less come that close! Were he not a dignified aristocrat, his face may have revealed how startled he was. His eyes locked with the green ones of his prey, when the most startling thought of all hit him. Had Potter gone to Hogwarts, he clearly would have been a Gryffindor, for he was completely incapable of hiding his thoughts; the reason for his fear was all to evident from the look on his face.

_The boy knew who Lucius was._

Lucius kept his eyes locked on the boy, who was beginning to shake slightly. He pulled his arm back, preparing to stun Potter before he could do anything.

Then the boy had the nerve to run.

**~X~**

Even though the air was silent, Harry ran as if a shotgun had just gone off. The shoppes, trees, and street signs all blurred together in his vision. All he was focused on was putting one foot before the other, and not running out of pavement. The pounding in his chest had yet to subside, and he very much doubted it would. Harry risked a glance back, only to find what he feared. Malfoy was running after him, and though he was lagging behind, the blond was keeping good time. The last thing Harry saw before looking forward was Malfoy raising his arm, his weaponized stick in hand.

_I'm going to die_, was the only thought racing through his head. He had seen too many people fall at the ends of those in his dreams, and if there was even the slightest chance they were real, he wanted to be as far away from them as possible. Harry couldn't remember running this fast since he had first ran away. But it wasn't fast enough; he picked up the pace, just in time for a red stream of light to whizz past his head. Harry didn't have time to feel fortunate that it had missed; he needed to prepare to dodge the next one.

**~X~**

Lucius silently cursed himself for missing. Usually he had no difficulty hitting moving targets, especially not when he was trying to stun them. But usually his targets weren't moving this fast! _It's no wonder the boy was never found_, Lucius couldn't help but think. He could have kept this chase up on his own, but Lucius was a politician, not an athlete. He was running out of breath, and he knew it. The aristocrat couldn't afford to stop, but he needed to call for backup. In mid-run, he clenched his wand in his teeth, thinking for a moment how his mother would have scolded him for the action, and pulled the left sleeve of his robe up, exposing the snake-entwined skull on his forearm to the sun.

Before calling, he looked up to see if Potter was showing any signs of giving up. Such was not the case; if anything, he seemed to be running faster, and was turning a corner as Lucius was looking.

"Gheh, Merlin be damned." he swore under his breath. As Lucius rounded the same corner, he placed the tip of his wand against the Dark Mark. Almost immediately, it began to burn, excruciatingly so, but he couldn't stop for anything. The Malfoy focused on the connection between his mark and the others, his wand never moving from his forearm, and sought out the connection to Augustus Rookwood. It took a moment, but he was the closest Death Eater in the physical area, so it wasn't terribly difficult. Lucius knew at this moment, Rookwood would be experiencing the same mind-numbing burning in his left arm that Lucius was, and he would know what to do. The aristocrat broke the connection, removing his wand and preparing to cast another stunner. He knew Rookwood would know what to do.

**~X~**

If Harry were particularly spiritual, he would have prayed at that moment that none of these alleys ended in dead ends. Why he chose to duck into an alley, he didn't know. Wait, scratch that, he did know; he didn't think, the alley was simply the first place he saw to hide. Harry could still hear Malfoy tailing him, but he was further behind now. Maybe he would get away, and then he could pretend none of this had happened, and Malfoy could go back to being imaginary.

It was only now that Harry let himself wonder what he was doing here. From what he has witnessed, Malfoy was a skilled "dueler," a general of sorts, and a political force to be reckoned with. If he were real, which he was, what would he want with an awkward seventeen year old with a bad habit of lighting things on fire when scared?

"Stupefy!" He heard the man shout behind him. Harry leapt to the side, putting a few feet and a couple cardboard boxes between himself and the spell. He managed to get back on his feet in good time, but Malfoy had made a significant dent in the gap between them. He rounded another corner, preparing to run like all hell, but froze instead -

There was another at the end of this alley, and his weapon was pointed right at Harry.

Harry couldn't remember this one's name, but he had seen his face plenty of times. From what he could recall, the man was a sort of spy. Harry took a few steps back, and turned to run the other way, but then Malfoy arrived blocking the other end of the alley. Harry looked back and forth between the two men; he was cornered, trapped, there was no way around it.

His heart had been pounding throughout the entire chase, but now, it was beating so hard it hurt. Harry felt as if his heart knew it could stop at any second, and it wanted to make every last pump of blood count. The world seemed to move in slow motion; everything became silent in his mind. Before Harry recognized what was happening, an overwhelming heat seemed to overtake him from the inside out. It took every bit of willpower he had not to cry out, though he felt as though his insides were on fire. The sides of the alley began to smoke, beginning as just a faint mist, but growing to a dark vapor.

Then a red beam of light entered his field of vision, hitting him from the left, and Harry fell.

**~X~**

Lucius watched the scene before him unfold in bewilderment. The sides of the alley had almost seemed to be smoking, but as soon as Rookwood hit Potter with the stunner, the smoke had stopped. The boy must have been the source, he concluded, but how had he done it? Wandless and instinctual magic were fairly unusual to cast after age thirteen or so.

Lucius would have thought more on this, but he and Rookwood had to act. The boy was stunned, and as such wouldn't be trying that again, but he was still conscious and aware of everything going on. The spell would only last for a few minutes; they needed to leave now. Lucius rushed forward to grab the boy before Rookwood could. He sneered at the fellow Death Eater.

"You may have stunned him, but _I _found him. _I_ will be delivering him to the Dark Lord." Before Rookwood could protest, Lucius Apparated, taking extra precaution not to Splinch their prey. This was, in all honesty, Lucius's last ditch effort to regain some favor in the Dark Lord's eyes. For him, for his family. Perhaps, he rationalized, if he brought Potter to the man, Draco's failure might be forgiven. But Lucius was not a delusional man. He knew this to be a highly irrational thought.

Apparation was a sensation Lucius had never gotten used to. The feeling of being pushed through a tube, suffocating, only to pop out in a manner that made it near impossible to maintain composure - it made him feel powerless. A small part of him hoped the boy with him was coping alright.

He also hoped his Lord was merciful enough to give the boy a quick death.

**~X~**

Harry's head was spinning at a million miles an hour. He wasn't dead - yet, he told himself - but he couldn't move. Was he paralyzed? If he was, shouldn't he at least be able to move his neck? The blond assailant stalked over and said something to the other. Harry couldn't make it out, his ears were ringing. The next thing he was really aware of was a horrid sort of pressure, the best way he could think of to describe it was like being constricted by a massive python. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Harry wasn't afraid of dying. He'd thought about it enough times over the years that it didn't bother him anymore. Everyone died, and nobody really knew what happened next; it was a simple fact. Harry liked to believe that dying would somehow bring his family back together. So even though he was terrified, this somehow wasn't so bad.

As soon as the thought passed his mind, the sensation ended. There was a loud crack, and he fell to the ground, head throbbing. Harry winced, and raised an arm to his forehead. It took him a moment to realize he could move again. Malfoy was pacing back and forth across the room, but that was all Harry could make out. The rest of his surroundings were too dark, and his eyes were still adjusting.

The boy blinked a few times. Suddenly he realized that they weren't in an alley in London anymore. Harry looked back and forth, and concluded that he had no idea where they were. His scar was burning a bit, but Harry assumed that was from the fall. Before panic could set in, he started taking deep breaths. Hyperventilating in a dark mysterious room and passing out did not seem like the best of plans. Harry considered asking where they were; it couldn't hurt, right? But before the words could form themselves, he cried out in pain and doubled over.

His scar felt like it was tearing him in half.

**~X~**

Lucius Malfoy was pacing the room nervously. He had only apparated here a few times before; no one was permitted to enter unless their business was urgent. Usually, Malfoy Manor was used as a stronghold for Death Eater activities, but when secrecy was needed more so than usual, they would use the Dark Lord's personal fortress, the ancestral home of Salzaar Slytherin.

Lucius had gone directly to the dungeons. He knew the wards would inform the Dark Lord that he was here, so all he could do was wait. He was confident that all had gone well, but Lucius feared for what would happen to him if anything was out of place. The boy was moving a bit now; he clearly wasn't injured. Lucius went back to pacing, knowing his Lord would be here quite literally at any moment now.

Behind him he heard an intake of breath, and a short cry of pain. Lucius spun on his heel to face the source: the Potter boy was curled on the floor, clenching in apparent pain and crying out again every few seconds. Lucius rushed over; if anything had gone wrong, if the boy was injured, if the boy died before the Dark Lord could get his hands on him, Lucius knew he would be blamed. His hands began shaking in panic, but before he could check anything, the gate to the dungeons opened.

Lord Voldmort had arrived.

**~X~**

Harry couldn't remember his scar ever hurting this bad before. It felt like someone had taken a scalpel to his forehead, cut along the lightning bolt shape, and was digging their hands into his flesh, tearing the skin and tissue apart. He was trying not to scream, but, damn, it hurt! His eyes fluttered open for a moment as the flaring burned hotter. His heart just about stopped.

That opening in the wall hadn't been there a moment ago, and neither had the figure in the doorway. The man was terrifying and imposing, standing over six feet tall, clad in black robes that billowed out behind him, even as he was still. His skin was bone white, with shadows of milky jade along the edges. His complexion, paired with his bare scalp, only served to accentuate the deep crimson of his eyes. Even the flat expanse of face where a nose should have been seemed to direct attention to the red slits. Harry should have thought of this sooner. If Malfoy were real, it only made sense that everyone else was too, right?

The pain in Harry's forehead continued to increase as _he_ walked into the room. Harry's vision was blurring, the edges fading into darkness. The next thing he knew, the ground was rushing towards him.

Then, everything was black.

**~X~**

**Sorry this update took so long, I've been at work a lot lately. The next chapter will probably also be about two weeks, but I promise, it'll be worth waiting for!**

**Note: YES, there was a Final Fantasy game out in 1997, FFVI. Just saying, I did my research. Also, the legal drinking age in Britain is 18, so yes, Harry's underage, but whatever. At least, it is today, I don't know about '97.**

**hehe, at the beginning, Harry has a bit of a problem with jumping to conclusions. I sort of love that aspect about him, even if it killed Sirius...**

**And I apologize for the fail on typing the Russian accent. I know what it's supposed to sound like, but not how to write it.**

**Reviews are Love!**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


	4. Chapter 4

**Holy crap, I can't believe how many people favorited and watched the last chapter! I think I got more reviews on chapter three than I did on one and two put together! Thank you all so much, especially to everyone who reviewed. It means a lot to me to read your comments, and I'm just floored by all the positive things you've had to say. Thank you, everyone.**

**I'm shocked by how many people liked the OCs! I had a lot of fun making them, but unfortunately, they're out of the story completely for now. They might make a reappearance later, don't worry! Once again, a shout out to ****LadyofLilacs**** (go read Freefall. NOW-no, wait not now! After this! It's brilliant! And my inspiration to write this story) for being an epic BETA, and an even more epic person. Well, let's get on with the chapter! It's what you're here for!**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_Everybody loves to be in on the pressure,  
>but I know they're all waiting for the crash<em>

**~X~**

_Harry should have thought of this sooner. If Malfoy were real, it only made sense that everyone else was too, right?_

_The pain in Harry's forehead continued to increase as _he_ walked into the room. Harry's vision was blurring, the edges fading into darkness, his ears were ringing louder and louder. The next thing he knew, the ground was rushing towards him._

_Then, everything was black..._

**~X~**

The atmosphere in the study had been tense, to say the least. The floor was littered with books from the countless bookshelves in the room, titles on every topic from history, to the dark arts, to children's' fairy tales. There was no order to them; no neat stacks, no gently placed markers to say what went with what. They were simply thrown across the room, as if someone had sought something frantically, and knew they wouldn't be cleaning the mess after. The absence of light only served to make the room appear more cluttered. There were windows, yes, but the dark red curtains drawn over them left only a few candles for illumination. Aside from the bookshelves, the only pieces of furniture were two chairs, one of which was occupied, and a desk. The desk was piled with papers; stories, war logs from centuries ago, old maps, and yet more books. The chair however, was much more interesting. Entwined in the legs of the seat was a massive black serpent, it's body slowly coiling up the chair, and head laying on the armrest. Seated before the desk, was the most powerful Dark Lord to walk the Earth, his brow furrowed in frustration. He closed his eyes for a moment, and placed a hand over his forehead.

Voldemort had spent months looking for it; the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, the name mattered not, they were all the same. He had read countless historical texts, hunted down dozens of eyewitnesses for information before killing them, and visited many battlegrounds and tombs, not that the two were terrible different. Yes, Voldemort was thoroughly frustrated, for he could find no other way around the facts. The Elder Wand was last known to be in the possession of Gellert Grindelwald, so logic dictated that it must now be in the hands of Albus Dumbledore, located in the one place in Britain that he could not enter. He let out an exasperated sigh, and lowered his hand to stroke the serpent.

"_Nagini, why must that old fool make things so much more difficult? His views were once, not so different than my own. Yet he chooses to defend the impure, the ones weakening our kind..._"

His voice trailed off as he spoke, and he chuckled a bit. The serpent by his side, Nagini, perked her head up a bit.

"_Your life would be much simpler if you'd let me eat him._" Nagini retorted. The Dark Lord let out another chuckle, but even his laughter was as cruel as it was cold.

"_Perhaps the next time I duel him, you may._" He replied, stroking her again.

A wave seemed to run through the air of the study, rustling the curtains slightly and leaving a bit of warmth in its wake. Had there been anyone else in the area, the phenomena would have gone by undetected to them. But the Dark Lord smirked, he knew that sensation all too well. It had been the estates Wards, informing him that someone had just Apparrated into the castle.

Harry Potter. Finally.

Knowing Lucius' controlling demeanor and eagerness to regain favor, he suspected the blond to be the accompanying Death Eater, but that was of little importance. Voldemort couldn't help himself; he laughed. At first, just a little, but then he threw his head back, the sound becoming more maniacal by the second.

He had waited for sixteen years to kill this boy, _sixteen years_. It was longer than anyone else had ever avoided him, that much was certain, but the Dark Lord knew that to be a result of luck more than anything. Pure and simple luck. His composure regained, but still filled with anticipation and a twisted sense of joy, Voldemort gracefully left the room, Nagini slithering closely behind.

The corridors of Slytherin Castle were expansive, to say the least, and anyone unfamiliar with its layout could easily spend days lost in her confines. But this was the home of Voldemort's ancestors; if anyone could break her secrets, it was him. White marble walls etched with a serpentine molding reflected against a smooth black marble floor, interrupted every now and again by green stained glass windows. The walls arced, forming a perfect semicircle at the top and fading back to black as the sides reached each other. The effect was sharp, and somewhat otherworldly. The Dark Lords footsteps were barely audible, despite the echo the halls provided.

Elegant marble faces faded in a matter of minutes, to be replaced by the gray stone walls of the dungeons. Salzaar Slytherin had been immensely powerful, so he had few enemies worth worrying about. But, he had still been a terribly paranoid individual. The man had raised basilisks to guard his possessions and heirs, incorporated dungeons into all of his homes, and even covered the grounds around the castle in traps, most of them being long forgotten dark magic. The Dark Lords' fingers trailed along the wall as he drew closer to the cell in use. He hadn't said a word since leaving his study, and Nagini was beginning to feel anxious.

"_Master, what are we doing? Is there a prisoner down here? Can I eat them?_" She asked eagerly. Voldemort chucked coldly in response.

"_Perhaps, Nagini. There are just I few things I-_"

He was interrupted, by a sudden shouting a few cells ahead. Voldemort drew his wand from his robes and preceded, any desire in his face replaced with bitter annoyance. If Lucius had lost control of his temper and decided to torture _his_ prey, then there was going to be hell to pay for the Malfoy. Really, one would think that he understood he was walking on thin ice. But, when one considered how much inbreeding went on in pure-blood families, it almost didn't seem like Lucius' fault that he was so inept.

However, that wouldn't stop him from receiving the worst Crucio of his life.

The solid gate opened before him with a wave of the hand, and the Dark Lord stepped forward, stopping in the doorway. The scene before him was a bit of a surprise; the boy was just, there, grunting and letting out brief shrieks, and Lucius was watching in horror, his wand nowhere in sight. The boy, Harry Potter, was less than he had expected. He was rather small, a bit frail, though he did have a few muscles, and wore infuriatingly muggle glasses. In the eyes of Voldemort, the boy was, in a word, weak.

Then, he saw those _eyes_.

The boy turned his face towards him. His eyes were an unnatural, almost electrifying sort of green, the exact shade of the all-to-familiar spell Voldemort had cast on him sixteen years before. For a moment, he looked terrified, as one should in the face of Lord Voldemort, but that terror subsided all too soon, to be replaced with defiance. Defiance, of all things. The look only lasted a moment, before the boy collapsed, his head colliding with the cold granite floor. It didn't however, despite how infuriating it was, vanish from Voldemorts' mind.

Lucius stood on the other side of the now unconscious boy, shaking and panicked. He was clearly aware of the possible repercussions he could face, but for now, Voldemort needed him sane enough to tell him what had happened.

Lucius was a proud man, but he was not an idiot. The aristocrat dropped to his knees before his Lord had the chance to speak, bowing as deeply as he could.

"My Lord, I-I swear, I don't know what happened. I only delivered the boy, and, and he just, I don't know why he-Could he be pretending? I swear, I had n-nothing to do with this my Lord-"

Voldemort raised a hand, and Lucius was silenced. It amused him greatly to see the Malfoy so flustered, a complete wreck, the exact opposite of the facade he shared with the political world. But, now he had more important things to worry about than his weakest inner circle man; for now, Potter was the center of his attention.

Defiance was an expression saved for those facing an inescapable fate. Yes, many thought they knew true defiance, to face a perceived foe with anger and stubbornness, but that wasn't defiance at all. Real defiance was a basic human instinct; the strength of mind and will to look your demise in the eye, and say "I'm not going down without a fight", and do so free of any anger or bitterness. Until the masses could face down death without blinking, they were little more than arrogant fools. Potter had looked at him, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, with true defiance. An unwillingness to die that he had proved sixteen years ago. But to face a Dark Lord with such passion, required actually _knowing_ who that Dark Lord was. Something that the Boy Who Lived should have been painfully ignorant of.

It was strange, really; just moments ago, he would have killed the boy without a second thought. But his mind faded back to the last time he acted without having all the facts, without knowing everything possible. He had spent thirteen years floating as the most pitiful of spirits; not exactly an experience he was keen to repeat.

"Lucius," the man said, his voice as smooth as silk, but possessing a deadly tone. Lucius visibly shuddered at his Lord's voice. "Did anything, anything at all seem peculiar, when you found the boy?"

Lucius hesitated, diverting his gaze from that of the Dark Lord. His mind reeled back, as he questioned whether or not to tell the Dark Lord of the display of wandless magic he has witnessed. Voldemort impatiently shifted his wand back and forth between his hands, an action usually only performed when someone was about to receive the Cruciatus.

"Need I remind you that is unwise to leave me waiting, Lucius?" Lucius jumped at the tone.

"My Lord! Forgive me, I just- I was merely trying to recall if anything out of the ordinary happened when we were chasing him-"

"And why, pray tell, would you need to chase him?"

Both wizards fell into silence, one out of submission, the other, arrogance. The only sound in the cell was the slithering of Nagini around the unconscious boy on the ground, and the faint echoes against the walls. Lucius meekly cleared his throat.

"It, this may seem preposterous, and I fear you won't believe me, but, I think that Potter recognized me, and that was when he, ran."

It took Lucius about twice as long to finish his sentence as it would had he been talking to anyone else. The aristocrat hated having to face the Dark Lord, one on one. He was always reduced to a pitiful, weak, stuttering man, simply praying that he wouldn't die with his next words. Silence settled over the room again, as Lucius feared mentioning any more would be saying too much. Yet, the Dark Lord didn't appear surprised by Lucius's answer. Quite the opposite was true, it was as if he expected as much.

Neither man noticed as the boy on the ground stirred.

**~X~**

Harry decided that his lack of faith could sod off about now, he took that moment to pray that everything that had happened in the last twenty minutes had been his imagination, nothing more. He prayed that his mind had broken, that he really was insane, that perhaps his relatives had been right, and he was mad. A part of him hoped that the last ten years had been a hallucination, and that he was living in a psych ward in a hospital somewhere. Maybe he had tripped on the soccer field, or was hit by a car crossing the street, and his brain was just firing off any signal it could to stay awake. That could rationalize the pounding in his forehead, but he still suspected otherwise. The pain had subsided significantly, but he suspected that was more a side effect of the adrenaline than anything else.

There were too many questions swirling in Harry's mind, more than he could even begin to make sense of. So far, he had been able to swallow being, different. He could handle the nightmares, his scar usually wasn't a big deal, and strange things didn't happen to him that often, so, he could ignore them. But he could only ignore the dreams because they were just that, dreams, and none of it should have been real. He could ignore his scar because it would bother him whether he worried about it or not, and he could ignore the weirdness that always followed him because...because he didn't want to believe it.

Did this mean everything was real? He didn't even know what _everything_ meant anymore. Harry's thoughts were interrupted by something cold and smooth, and fairly heavy, running across his arm.

"Need I remind you that is unwise to leave me waiting, Lucius?"

The voice made Harry shudder, though whether that was from how suddenly the voice appeared, or from the venom laced throughout the tone, he didn't know. There was no guessing who the voice belonged to, with its high, yet piercing tone, and breathless, almost hissing quality. Though usually, when he heard that voice it was coming from his own throat. The other man, Harry thought it was still Malfoy, began babbling incoherently. Harry had stopped listening; the form moving across his arm was cutting off the blood circulation to his hand. He didn't want to open his eyes to see what was there, and risk showing that he was awake. The boy didn't know what was planned for him, and wasn't sure he wanted to.

A new presence made itself known in the room, only inches away from Harry's face. It shared the same hissing quality as Voldemorts', only, weaker. And it's tone much more impatient, Harry couldn't tell whether it was male or female.

"_Master, why are we still down here? Do we have to stay? The blond one is so boring... And the boy, can I eat the boy? Pleeeaaase Master?_"

Harry was so distracted by the voice's enthusiasm, that it took him a moment to recognize that, he was the "boy" who was about to be eaten. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he found himself, face to face with a snake. The serpent was looking upwards, crushing his arm, and partially coiled around his body. The new voice made itself heard again.

"_Master, are you ignoring me? I just want to eat him, may I?_"

Harry's eyes widened with shock as he realized that the _snake_ was the source of the voice. The snake was talking about eating him, the snake was _talking_. Anything else that had bothered Harry up until then vanished from his thoughts, the black serpent replacing them all.

"_How the bloody hell is that thing_ talking_?!_"

Harry exclaimed with a bit more than a hint of panic. He didn't notice the strange, raspy quality his voice took. Just the sudden movement of the man in the black robes snapping his head, turning to look him straight in the eye, crimson meeting with peridot. Harry's breath hitched in the back of his throat at the look Voldemort was giving him. It was a strange mixture of fascination and possessiveness.

The Dark Lord turned fully to face Harry, waving his hand to the side. The snake apparently took the gesture as a command, and slid to the other side of the room. Harry pushed himself upwards, clenching his hand a few times to restart the circulation, just as Voldemort took a step forward, A step towards him. Harry panicked, and pushed himself away from the man. But he only moved a foot or so before his back made contact with the cold wall. That didn't stop Voldemort from coming closer. The man kneeled down, but did so with a look of power and dignity that would have been impossible for anyone else to mimic. Harry wanted to look away, to tear his eyes from the hold of the crimson ones boring through him, but he couldn't. His breathing was becoming more erratic, his scar flaring again.

Voldemort tilted his head a bit to the side, a questioning look upon his features. The same kind of look Harry imagined a scientist would give to a test subject.

"How, curious..."

The man said, more to himself than anything else. He extended an arm towards Harry's scar, his fingertips just brushing the skin. Harry winced at the contact, and flinched back as a reflex, but the wall wouldn't let him move away. The look Voldemort was giving him sent a chill down Harry's spine. There was a strange sort of pressure at the center of the boy's forehead, and he knew it wasn't from the lightning bolt above his eyebrow. Something in the back of Harry's mind told him to break eye contact, to look anywhere but in front of him, but he couldn't. He just couldn't, and he didn't know why.

Then the floodgates opened, and he was overwhelmed with memories.

**~X~**

_He was nine years old, foraging through a trash bin in the rain. _

_He was fourteen, running down a neighborhood street away from a guard dog. _

_He was eight years old, sitting on the swings in a park. A little girl with blond pigtails sat next to him. She asked him, 'where are your parents?' He remained silent. _

_He was sixteen, and sitting in a coffee shoppe. A man in his mid thirties with a goatee sat across the table, looking intently at a small stack of papers. He looked at the green eyed boy, desperate for any chance he could give, and hired him on the spot._

_He was watching the world through eyes that belonged to another, speaking to a group of followers, some old, some new. He spoke of power and glory, of victory and triumph. His eyes drifted towards a window to the right, the reflection showing a tall, pale man with crimson eyes and a pair of slits where a nose should rest._

_He was thirteen, walking down a crowded street. A man turned to tell him off for bumping into him, he never noticed that Harry had taken his watch. It was a Rolex, too. _

_He was eleven years old, alone in the dark. Lightning struck, revealing a figure standing at the end of the block. _

_He was almost sixteen, and just starting to get his life together. He found himself laying on one of dozens of beds at the shelter. He had only just found this place a week ago, and couldn't help but think how bloody nice it would have been when he was a kid._

_He had been working at the coffee shoppe for six months. A young black man working there as well, Alex, invited the boy to live with him and a friend. The boy took the offer without a second thought, ecstatic to move out of the shelter._

_He was once again, watching the world as another. But this time, he was a serpent. Then man before him jerked and seized as he sunk his fangs into him over and over._

_He was six years old, watching a family of three. A too tall, wispy blond woman with a shrill voice, and a man who resembled a whale more than a human, doting over a miniature version of the were all dressed in their finest, for the family portrait they were taking. The green eyed boy watched them desperately from a distance, wanting nothing more than to be a part of that picture. _

_Wanting nothing more than to just...to just belong somewhere._

Legimency was surely the fastest way for Voldemort to confirm his suspicions, but it was also the most annoying. He only cared about information, not the facts that went with them. And yet, the memories he sought _were_ his facts. It was strange, really. The boy didn't even seem aware that he had spoken parseltongue, from what Voldemort had seen, he probably didn't even know it existed. That, paired with the mark on the boys forehead, added to everything that had went wrong that night led to only one conclusion in the Dark Lord's mind. Parselmouth wasn't an ability that had ever been present in the Potter bloodline, and it certainly wouldn't be in his mudblood mother's genes.

The only logical conclusion was that the boy was a Horcrux.

When one stopped to consider that the boy's death was supposed to mark the creation of another vessel of soul, and that the Dark Lords' soul was, as much as he hated to admit it, probably a bit unstable, the likelihood of him accidentally creating a Horcrux seemed very real. Which lead to another conclusion, which did not please Voldemort in the slightest.

He could not kill Harry Potter.

It was an inconvenience, yes, but it could be worked around. All he needed was a glimpse into the boy's mind, and that had provided him with every weapon he needed. The boy had grown up in a harsh world, but he was remarkably idealistic, and perhaps a bit naive. But not innocent. No, anything but innocent. He was however, desperate. For attention, for recognition, for someone to tell him _why_ he was different. Voldemort stepped back, and rose back to his full height, his almost non-existent lips curling into a slight smirk. He could be the one to give him those answers, to turn the Boy-Who-Lived into a follower, a puppet.

A pawn.

The idea was simple, but brilliant. The Wizarding world would collapse at the realization that their savior was bending to the will of the most feared Dark Lord in history, should they ever learn of the boy's existence. He looked back down at the green eyed boy, who was watching him in a combination of confusion, pain, and something he didn't quite recognize. It mattered not to him. He turned towards the door, stopping only to gesture towards the almost forgotten aristocrat in the corner.

"Come Lucius, we have business to attend to."

The Malfoy Head stumbled to his feet, following his Lord out of the room as hastily as possible, Nagini trailing after him, leaving behind nothing but a very confused prophesized child and the echoes of footsteps on the floor.

**~X~**

The events of the day only grew stranger and stranger, Lucius Malfoy noted as he scampered behind his lord. They had succeeded in finding Potter, a miracle all it's own, then they found him, once again, something Lucius had believed to be near impossible, and then the boy knew who they were. Then the boy almost lit an alley on fire _without a wand_ or any type of magical training, and now, to top it all off, he was a Parseltongue, and the Dark Lord hadn't killed him yet! Lucius knew better than to try and guess his Lord's plans, but he felt that Potter was in store for a very cruel and unusual death. It took much of his will power not to look back at the boy in pity, but he was already expendable. He couldn't risk being called "soft" on top of that.

The gate to the cell closed on its own after the three stepped out. Lucius was anxious for any further orders the Dark Lord may have had, but Voldemort said nothing. He continued to walk down the dank, granite walls of the dungeon until he reached the stairs back to the rest of the castle. The Dark Lord stopped suddenly before making his way up them. Lucius' heart very nearly stopped from fear when he almost walked into the man.

"Lucius, your arm." The Dark Lord demanded, more than spoke.

Lucius there was no response allowed other than to raise his left sleeve and hold his arm out. Well, there were other responses, but none that would leave him alive. Slowly, Lucius rolled up the black layers of his suit, revealing the mark of a serpent entwined around a skull, eventually emerging from the skulls' mouth. It was startlingly dark in contrast to his pale flesh, but that may have been a result of the close proximity he was in with the Dark Lord.

"...My Lord?"

Lucius asked after a moment. Voldemort didn't reply, verbally, at least. He turned to face Lucius, but his expression was set on the mark, not the pawn beneath it. The Dark Lords' wand was drawn, and now resting merely inches from the Malfoys' skin.

"Lucius, I believe now would be an appropriate time to summon the others. Would you not agree?"

Lucius swallowed nervously. When his Lord spoke of the others in this manner, he really only meant his inner circle. And since his fall from grace, he hadn't been on strong ground with any of them. Severus would send him pitying glances when he thought none were looking, but the rest, Bellatrix especially, wished for his death. However, when in the presence of a Dark Lord, one learns that the time to voice personal opinions is when alone, protected by dozens of wards and silencing spells.

"Of- of course, My Lord."

The Dark Lord smirked a bit, and Lucius winced. Summoning the others was an excruciatingly painful process, but Lucius knew all too well how the man before him reveled in the pain of others.

He only hoped he could keep from screaming long enough to hold onto his own pride.

**~X~**

She had always been the favorite, and nothing would change that.

When all others had abandoned the Dark Lord, she had stayed true to his message, his goals, is glorious ideals. She had fought for him, and spent fourteen years in Azkaban for it, but for her Lord, fourteen years was little more than the bat of an eye. She had always done his bidding- killed whoever stood in their way without a second thought, convinced her sister to allow the Dark Lord to use her Manor as a temporary Headquarters, and later on, a permanent Headquarters, she had even killed many men from their own ranks, all of whom where proven to be acting as spies. And for her loyalty, she had been rewarded greatly. She was her Lord's right hand of destruction; his most ruthless general, his most vicious protector. And at meetings, like the one they were attending now, she always sat closest to the Dark Lord.

It wasn't often that their ranks were invited for meetings at Slytherin Castle, but when they did, there were always three things they could count on. Firstly, the news would be vital, and incredible confidential, and if any of them breathed a word of it to an uninvited, they would surely die. Secondly, Severus would not be there. The Dark Lord claimed that it was so the Order of the Burning Budgies couldn't accidentally learn anything from him. but she believed her Lord to not truly trust the man. One again, a decision she fully agreed with. Thirdly, she knew, they would be isolated to a single room, and if they did need to enter the main Castle, their memories would be obliviated afterwards.

The woman closed her heavily-lidded, dark eyes and pushed her mess of black curls behind her shoulders, anxious to start the meeting. She and her husband were the only ones who deserved to be here, in the presence of her Lord. The rest had abandoned him, yet they were welcomed back, and she resented them for it. But she looked up at the head of the table, and all her resentment seemed to melt, replaced with admiration, and an overwhelming desire to obey.

The meeting room was long and narrow, the walls interrupted by tall, arched green stained glass windows every ten feet or so. The floors were a dark, solid wood, matching the banquet table in the center of the room perfectly. It was ridiculous that they had so many chairs in here, considering that they only needed seven. Six really, when one stopped to consider that Lucius would be worthless for the rest of the day. But, that was the price of having your mark used to call the others. Not that the pain had ever stopped Bellatrix.

She looked up at the head of the table, where her Lord, the one and only Lord Voldemort, stood. Even in his serpentine visage, she found him to be stunning, both in his physicality and in his power. Yes, she recognized her place was as his servant; she existed solely to kill for this man, but how she longed to stand by his side, and make the world bend at their knees. She never voiced these thoughts, but regardless, everyone knew them.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat, and everyone in the room fell silent. All eyes, Bellatrix, Lucius, Rookwood, Rodolphus, Avery, and Nott, were fixed upon Lord Voldemort, who stood at the head of the table. His own gaze panned across the room, boring through each and every one of them. He raised an arm, and everyone visibly flinched, despite his wand being away. Everyone but her, that is.

"My friends," he spoke. Bellatrix only barely held her laughter when he called the treacherous ones friends. They were pawns, she was the only one that mattered, and even she couldn't be called such a personal term. Her Lord continued. "Please, be seated."

Bellatrix very nearly snorted again. As if any of them had a choice in the matter. Well, they did, but saying no would mean death, and they weren't Slytherins for nothing- self-preservation was second nature to them. The five who were standing took their places at the table, forming two rows before the Dark Lord.

"Now, I believe you may be wondering why I called you here." Voldemort continued, as he began circling around them. "Two of you already know, but the rest, were left in the dark. You see, this job required the utmost secrecy, and quite frankly, I would much rather none of you knew of it." He chuckled darkly. "For the last few months, we have been constructing a plan. A plan which, as of today, is among our most successful of endeavors."

Bellatrix wasn't sure what to think; she believed they were called here to be give details of an important mission to complete, not to be informed of one already accomplished. And one of utmost secrecy? Did her Lord not trust her to keep quiet? She looked to the rest of the room, to see who may have known what was occurring. The only man who didn't appear stunned or confused was Augustus Rookwood. Of course, leave it to the unspeakable to be secretive. But the only other one who wasn't dazed was her worthless sniveling brother-in-law, Lucius, who looked more like he was about to be ill than anything else. If he was involved in this, over her, then what was she supposed to think? After everything she had done, _she_ was worthless?

But the thought was quickly vanquished. After all, she was the favorite. And _nothing_ would change that.

Bellatrix's train of thought was stopped when her Lord began speaking again. How she adored the cool, hissing tones of his voice, and how much power he conveyed even when he barely spoke over a whisper. It was truly, mesmerizing.

"You should be forewarned, if even so much as a rumor of a whisper of this leaves this room, the consequences will be...unpleasant, to say the least.." He had turned back, and was circling the other side of the table. Bellatrix may have imagined it, but she thought he paused for a moment behind her. The anxiety of the other members was incredibly high, but she alone remained calm. At least, she was on the surface. Beneath her facade, she was a whirlpool of frustration and confusion, threatening to destroy anything else that may pose to destroy her carefully crafted world order. That world came to a screeching halt with the Dark Lord's next five words.

"We have captured Harry Potter."

From the looks on every ones' faces, their worlds had virtually imploded on themselves as well. Bellatrix understood why she had not been chosen; as per usual, her Lord had made the right decision. But that didn't stop her from wondering why she had not been informed. The group, excluding Lucius and Augustus, was looking back and forth at each other, not sure of what to do, what to say next. Theodore Nott was the first to speak.

"My Lord, is this true? Harry Potter has truly been eliminated? After all this time, he's really-"

"Of course it's true you blubbering fool, would the Dark Lord say it if it wasn't?" Bellatrix snapped at him, only barely restraining herself from lunging across the table and attacking the man.

"How dare you suggest that our Lord lie, or worse, was unsuccessful in killing a _child_. We all knew our Lord would take care of that brat sooner or later, I mean, what chance could he possible stand against a Dark Lord?"

Voldemort raised a hand ever so slightly, and Bellatrix fell silent. She was watching him intently, hoping to hear of Potter's last moments of agony. The little brat had rendered her Lord helpless for almost thirteen years, and she wanted him to suffer. Yes, the former Black was upset that she had not been able to participate in Bitty-Baby-Potters' torture, but she was confident that her Lord had done a remarkable job without her.

"That is the next issue of this meeting." Lord Voldemort began again. "You are my inner circle, my most _loyal_ of followers," Bellatrix almost laughed again, she and her husband were the only truly loyal ones. "And as such, you are very involved in my plans. Now, you must be involved in this one."

"Harry Potter is still very much alive, and none of you are permitted to touch him."

Bellatrix's jaw dropped, her eyes practically bulged from her skull. The rest of the circle had similar expressions. Many of them looked as though they were about to protest, but Bellatrix beat them to it. She jumped up, and thanks to her heels, now stood almost at eye level with the Dark Lord.

"What? He's _alive_?! My Lord, what of the prophecy? Doesn't it say-"

"Need I remind you that thanks to you, we will never know what it truly says?" The Dark Lord hissed at her. Bellatrix's' temper immediately cooled, as she took a sheepish step back and lowered her gaze.

"Forgive me My Lord...for a moment, I simply forgot my place."

"And pray you don't forget it again." Was all he offered in exchange.

**~X~**

The meeting was a brief one, to say the least. After Bellatrix's outburst, everyone else was too afraid to speak their mind if they disagreed with the Dark Lord. And rightfully so; Where Bellatrix not such a skilled interrogator, she would have been dead on site. After all, nobody argued with a Dark Lord. Nobody.

Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Avery, Nott, and Rookwood left the castle with haste, Bellatrix having to be practically dragged by her husband, and Lucius trailing shortly behind. He still looked ill, but not as if he was going to expel the contents of his stomach at any second. The Dark Lord himself, however, lingered behind. There was still much to finish before the day was over, but first he had to think. After all, it was not thinking, attacking prematurely, that lead to this disaster in the first place.

No, these next few hours were far too precious; everything had to be executed perfectly. If Voldemort was right, and he usually was, the boy knew nothing of Albus Dumbledore, of the war, he doubted the boy even knew how his own parents died. The boy's ignorance would become Voldemort's greatest weapon; if he could convince Harry Potter that kidnapping him was a mistake, and make him believe that the Dark Lord's side was just in this war, victory would be ensured. Yes, he knew he would win either way, but when the Order of the Phoenix saw their savior fighting under his command, they would practically surrender. And those who didn't would be so maddened that killing them would be simpler than hunting muggles.

Everything was falling into place; all he had to do was craft his argument. But, perhaps more importantly, he needed to ensure he could have a conversation with the boy. It appeared that his presence caused him some sort of pain. The Dark Lord theorized that it was a result of the Horcrux being unstable, which made sense, since it was an accident. He had an idea for a remedy, a modification of a very complex potion. But it would take several hours to complete, and he trusted no one but himself to brew it properly.

Yes, it would take some time. But for the sake of Potter's loyalties, it was well worth it.

**~X~**

**If anyone is interested, I'll make a sketch of what the hallway looks like. In my mind, it's gorgeous.**

**Screw it, I'll just make it, whether you want to see it or not~.**

**I'm sorry this chapter took so long, Voldemort's POV is very difficult for me to write, hehe. And for the denser audience members, YES. "**_**Text like this notes parselspeech**_**." I dub parselspeech to be a real word. Another note, the next chapter will probably also be a while. I'm graduating in a few months, and I really need to cram through my lessons. That, and I'm working all the time, and I've started taking art commissions, and those take a while as well. Sorry about that!**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


	5. Chapter 5

**I would like to start this chapter with a few messages. Firstly, to everyone who has followed or favorited this story, thank you. Thank you all so much, every time I see that email, it assures me that I am doing something right. And Secondly, to everyone that has left a review, you are my inspiration and the reason I still write this. It's such an affirmation, reading your comments and seeing that you actually like this. Thank you all so much.**

**Also, this chapter took longer than I expected because, I have to brag here, ****I WENT TO HOGWARTS****! (Ok, Universal, fine. It's still the promised land of Potter-Heads.)**

**A special thanks to LadyofLilacs for being such an awesome motivator, a great beta, and an epic author herself~ And another thanks to LordVoldemort777, for creating the harrymort . com website, which you should all join!**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_Come take my pulse the pace is on a runaway train_

**~X~**

There were a lot of things at that moment that Harry truly and genuinely wasn't used to; He wasn't used to teleporting, the best word he could think of to describe how he ended up here. He wasn't used to snakes talking, much less talking about eating him. He wasn't used to characters from his dreams chasing him down alleys while firing lights at him. And he most certainly wasn't used to the idea of his alter ego not being an alter ego. However, what had Harry the most on edge was how for once, when there were so many things that could be said, he was at a complete and udder loss for words. He just sat on the ground, wincing every now and again, and stared at the wall before him with a dumbfounded expression.

Whatever had just happened to his mind, he didn't know. Yes, he knew that Voldemort could do a lot of things that didn't make any sense, but looking at someone and making them see things that weren't there? Having them relive memories? The experience reminded Harry of his hyper-realistic dreams, which he was pretty sure weren't actually dreams, only that this time he was awake.

He wasn't sure how long he had sat there, but suddenly, something in Harry's mind clicked; he was alone, there was no one stopping him. He could try and find an escape, and worry about what was happening later. He snapped his head back and forth, looking for any way out, but the only one he could see was the obvious gate. However, Harry had seen enough action movies to know that whenever you were in a dark stone room, there was always a secret passage. Some sort of trapdoor, or a brick that you could slide back, anything. Yes, he knew the idea was insane, but the last few major experiences of his life had been insane enough to make him not care. He turned about, but after a few moments of stumbling against the walls, he gave up on this endeavor. Harry's attention turned back towards the spiraling black gate, he could only imagine where it led.

Harry stood, and took a deep breath. He could see his breath fog as he exhaled, and took a step forward. One hand outstretched, the gate was only a few paces ahead of him. Something in the back of Harry's mind told him this was too easy, but he ignored it. All that mattered was finding a way out of this room, he would worry about whether to escape, or look for answers after that. He knew that escaping was the smart thing to do, the rational action anyone would take. But to leave all this unanswered? Unsolved? There was no way it wouldn't follow him out of here, considering it made much an effort to chase him down. Harry weighed the possibilities back and forth in his mind, but didn't choose yet. He wouldn't worry about deciding until he was actually in a position to choose. Knowing himself, he knew it would be a rash, split-second decision, but sometimes that was the only way to know which option was right.

Choosing however, lost its priority in Harry's mind fairly quickly. His hand was only inches from the handle, when his fingertips brushed against something. Harry's hand lurched back, then slowly crept forward again. More confusion settled over the boy's features, as he moved both hands to examine the area in front of him. There really was no better way of putting it; there was an invisible wall in front of the door. An honest to god, invisible bloody wall. The surface of it seemed to mist around Harry's fingertips, but vanished again as soon as he removed them.

Another half baked idea struck Harry. He placed both hands back against the seemingly non-existent wall, and pushed. All his strength, body weight, and stubbornness was backing him up, putting as much pressure as he could on the surface. He wasn't sure what he expected to happen, but there couldn't be any harm in trying, right? A grin overcame his features as he heard a loud crack. It was working, he would get out of here! But his sudden joy was overcome with confusion as he heard another crack, this one accompanying what looked like lighting dancing across the surface. Before Harry could react, the sparks jumped towards him, hitting his arms and sending him flying back with a yelp.

Harry saw stars for a second as his head collided with the opposing wall. He groaned, and rubbed a palm against the freshly growing lump on his skull. The invisible wall sparked one last time, as if warning him not to try that again, before completely vanishing from sight.

"Geh, so much for that."

Harry muttered to himself, wincing as he stood up. He stopped for a moment to consider that an invisible electric field should have made him panic more than this, but compared to Voldemort being real, a little electric shock was the least of his problems.

The bewildered boy went back to pacing across the room, looking for any other possible escape. It wasn't exactly a large cell, so that didn't take long, but he didn't stop. After pacing the room a few times, he stopped actually looking. The motion simply became a way to pass time.

It was in this moment that Harry considered what he really knew about his captors. So far, he had seen Voldemort, Malfoy, and another man that he recognized, but didn't remember the name for. It was safe to assume, he presumed, that everyone and everything else was real too. The war, the raids, the..._magic_, for lack of a better word. Harry knew that there was a war, that Voldemort was leading one side of it, and that the red-eyed man was powerful beyond imagination. He was ruthless, cunning, and would stop at nothing to accomplish his goals. Voldemort didn't have friends, only followers. He was either working to take over the world, or tear it from its foundations to make into what he wanted, Harry wasn't entirely sure which. But all these images, clashing in his mind against ones of a lonely dark eyed child, sitting in a room filled with people, but more alone than anyone knew, led Harry to feel something akin to sympathy.

That didn't mean he wasn't scared out of his wits.

Harry wasn't sure how long he had been pacing the room; his eyes had barely left the floor. It could have been twenty minutes; it could have been over an hour. Time had a way of feeling irrelevant when all you could do was wait.

Green eyes snapped back into focus and Harry out of his daze as he heard the gate creak open. He watched in a mixture of curiosity and anxiety as two figures, each one a good head taller than him and donning silver masks, stood in the doorway. One of them drew a wooden stick, the same kind that so many others here had, and waved it in the air a few times. Harry wasn't sure what he had done, but the atmosphere in the room suddenly felt much lighter. The two men walked into the room, and Harry realized that this was his chance. If they could get in, he could get out! Sure, they would chase him, but Harry was willing to bet he was faster. He prepared to make a break for it, but didn't account for the sheer size of the masked men. As soon as he stepped forward, Harry's shoulder collided into the side of one of the men. The force made him spin around, and the other man took the opportunity to grab his arm. Harry yelped as his arms were jerked behind him, and the man holding them began pushing him out of the cell.

"Hey! What are you- Hmn, Let me go! Damn it, what do you guys want? Where are you taking me?!"

Both figures remained silent, each looking straight ahead as if Harry wasn't even there. The boy jerked back and forth and tried to break out of the masked man's grip, but his attempts were all in vain. Harry was so focused on his struggle that he hadn't even noticed the stone hallway vanish and the marble expanses begin. The only light in the halls was the emerald green filtered through the windows, not that there wasn't an abundance of light. Every step Harry took was a result of force from either of the two men, now standing on each side of him, each one gripping a bicep. Harry continued to shout at the masked men, in a desperate attempt to get any answers he could from them, but they remained passive, never once looking down.

Harry could feel a pit forming in his stomach; he hadn't payed any attention to how they got here. If somehow he were to get away right now, he would become hopelessly lost in what he could only imagine was a massive estate. At this thought, he became very quiet, and tried to pick up on whatever layout he could. Both guards seemed to relax, but neither lessened their grip.

Their journey continued like that for what felt like forever, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. With both masked men walking briskly, and Harry being half-forced, half-dragged along. Harry's had lost track of how many different corridors and stairwells he had seen. The two guards slowed down as they turned another corner. The green-eyed boy's breath hitched in the back of his throat as their trek neared its end. Lying at the end of this hallway was a solid black door with a silver handle. The door itself was innocent enough, but who knew what was on the other side? Something gave Harry the feeling that these guys did, but they weren't exactly the conversational type.

When the three reached the door, one of the guards pulled his stick out again. It struck Harry that he would really need to think of a better word for those than "stick", but he was too anxious to come up with one. He waved it a few times, muttered something Harry didn't understand, and tapped the handle of the door. A chill ran down Harry's spine; he had seen those same devices send people falling to their deaths, perhaps he was about to be sent to his. But still, why? His mouth dried as the door swung open. Before Harry could take even a second to analyze the room, he was shoved in.

"H-Hey!"

He shouted, and turned back towards the door. But before he could confront the masked man who had pushed him, the door slammed closed. Harry clenched his teeth and slammed his fist into the door.

"Damn it, Let me out of here! What do you guys want with me?!"

His hand collided with the door again. He didn't actually expect an answer.

"You will wait here for the Dark Lord."

One of the faceless men called through the solid wood expanse. Alright, he had gotten an answer, though it didn't actually answer anything.. Harry stepped back and slammed his side into the door, but it didn't budge. All he succeeded in doing was maybe bruising his left shoulder. The boy slid to his knees, still facing the door between him and possible escape. He could hear the guards walking away now, but didn't move himself, save for his unusually harsh breathing.

Panic was the only thing running through his mind. He was going to die, he was taken in here to wait for his execution. It wasn't the thought of dying that scared him, though. It was the thought of never knowing why.

Harry tried to calm himself down, taking deeper and deeper breaths. Slowly, he stood up, and wiped a hand against his forehead. No, he wouldn't go out like this. He wouldn't die cowering on the floor while hyperventilating. He would stand, keep his dignity, and look his killer straight in the eye. Harry took another deep breath, and turned around. If he had to wait, he wouldn't be passive about it, he would develop a new plan.

The pit that had formed in Harry's stomach seemed to drop like a ton of bricks. The room he was now standing in wasn't the kind you brought someone to while they waited to die. This was the ridiculously over-the-top bedroom obnoxious rich people kept, but never used, and only had to show off to other rich people. While the hallways were a sharp black and white, this room was done in soft, warm neutral tones, accented with touches of dark green. In any other situation, Harry would have taken the time to admire the fine craftsmanship of the solid wood furniture, the massive size of the bed, and the elegant tastefulness that the room was maintained with, but now he was in survival mode. He once again didn't know why he was here, and he wanted to get out. Harry rushed over to the windows; perhaps he would see something, anything familiar. A street, some sort of landscape, even a building off in the distance would do, so long as he could spot something. But as he approached the glass and drew the curtain back, the pit in his stomach only dropped lower.

The window looked down at the world from a great height. Not because he was on a high floor, he didn't even know what floor he was on, but simply because he now saw himself in the middle of a heavily forested mountain range. All he could see for miles were trees, and the occasional stone face breaking the monotony. Harry's mouth dried again, his throat constricted. Even if he got out of here, he had no idea where "here" was. It only just now struck Harry that they could potentially be hundreds of miles away from London, and if that was the case, there was nothing he could do.

Harry closed his eyes and took another breath. He wouldn't let himself panic again, he would at least try to keep a clear head. The boy tore his eyes from the window and back to face the room, still confused as to why he was led here, and not to another cell. But, he knew he wouldn't come up with the answer on his own. As much as he hated it, the only thing he could think of to do now was pace across the room to calm his nerves, and wait.

**~X~**

Dark Lords did not struggle. Nothing was difficult for them, the world bent at their feet. The current Dark Lord would never admit to any shortcomings, for he had none. He was brilliant, charming, powerful, and most importantly, feared. There was no knowledge he could not obtain, no magic he had not studied, nothing that he didn't possess at least a basic understanding of.

That didn't however, stop him from thinking the potion in his hand was the most complicated and nerve-wracking mixture he had ever brewed. The man had just spent three hours in Salazar Slytherin's personal potions lab and store-room. It wasn't a room he used often, seeing as he had followers who were more than proficient in potions brewing, but this was too vital a task; one he could only entrust to himself.

Lord Voldemort stepped back and stood to his full height, satisfied to finally be done with the concoction. In his right hand now, was a crystal phial containing a most curious teal mixture, that almost appeared to be electric. The potion had no name; after all, the Dark Lord had only just invented it. And he very much doubted he would ever need it again, so there was no point in naming it. The brew was a mixture of three fluids; a stabilizing agent, his own blood, and an original brew the Dark Lord called "Dementors' Breath".

The intention of Dementors' Breath was simple; it tore the soul from the very foundations of the drinker, and left then in a state much like that of victims of a Dementors' Kiss. While it was much less effective than simply using the killing curse, it was a good way to convince Dumbledore and his followers that The Dark Lord had the miserable creatures under his control. In truth, all his followers had accomplished in managing the Dementors was releasing them from Azkaban; they wanted nothing to do with this war, it had turned out. Voldemort wasn't sure where they had disappeared to, but so long as they weren't serving the Light, then his potion would suffice for inflicting fear. Though, in its current state, it should be quite harmless. At least. the Dark Lord hoped it would be.

In truth, there were only a few drops of the lethal potion in the crystal. They had been carefully blended with Voldemort's blood, and then heavily diluted in a stabilizer made mostly with eagle liver and lacewing flies. With any luck, the solution would recognize the piece of Voldemort's soul within the boy-who-lived, loosen it, and shift it into a new position. The Dark Lord very nearly chuckled at the idea of leaving this to luck; he knew full well that this would work. Since he had made the boy a Horcrux by mistake, the piece of soul attached to the child must have been unstable, which would easily explain the pain he experienced when Voldemort was near. Voldemort couldn't have cared less if the boy hurt, not at all, but it was rather difficult to convince someone to swear their loyalties to you while they were keeling over and trying not to pass out.

Nagini slithered across the potions room, as she had been doing for the past three hours. She was exceptionally bored, and didn't truly understand what it was the Dark Lord was working on. All she knew was that her Master had been ignoring her for some time, and she didn't like it.

"_Massster, are you done yet? I want to eat the skinny prisoner, can I now? I would have already, but you locked the door. Sometimes I wish I had hands, but they look too complicated..._"

Sometimes the Dark Lord wondered why he settled on Nagini to be his Horcrux. Yes, her naivety and simplicity was refreshing, but only in small doses. When he was trying to focus, and she chose to speak non-stop about whatever nonsense was at the front of her mind, she was a bit annoying. But, then again, he found everyone to be a nuisance most of the time. Nagini at least, was only a bother occasionally.

"_Nagini, you will not be eating him, I'm afraid. You see, he's...special, like you._"

"_That's silly Master, I'm clearly more special. I don't need arms._"

Nagini slithered across the room, towards the door, before the Dark Lord could reply. He wouldn't admit it, but Nagini's antics did amuse him. Snakes were so much easier to deal with than humans, he thought. All the Dark Lord had to do was speak to one, and they would obey his every whim.

Voldemort ran his free hand over his head before opening the door. The laboratory was located among the lower levels of the castle, so it would take him a few minutes to reach his destination. However, taking his time didn't seem like a horrible idea. The longer it took to reach one Harry James Potter, the more likely the boy would have calmed down enough to listen.

That, or he would have more time to throw himself out a window or something. You never could tell what was going through the mind of someone so obviously Gryffindor

As per usual, the echoing hallways of Slytherin Castle were empty. However, the hallways weren't as plentiful as they appeared to be. It was a rather clever trick Salazar had developed to keep intruders at bay; every hallway, every doorway, had a complex series of glamours and illusions placed over them. Whenever you looked down a hallway, you would see it turn off, and shoot in two or three different directions, regardless of where you were. One could only see through them if they knew exactly where they wanted to go, and what they were looking for. Since there were no blueprints of the area, and Salazar trusted no one to enter his domain, the number of people in history who had been able to navigate the castle had to have been less than ten. Naturally, the Dark Lord was one of them.

The expanses of marble and stark green windows had darkened significantly over the hours, a visible testament to how much time had truly passed. The Dark Lord payed it no heed though. His gaze stayed straight ahead, focused only on the black oak door ahead of him. He had every world planned, every argument thought through. Yes, convincing Harry Potter to join his side looked as though it would prove to be a simple task.

The Dark Lord opened the door to the room silently, leaving Nagini to wait outside, but green eyes the same shade as the killing curse were already watching him, nervous and alert, his scar clearly having informed him of the Dark Lord's presence. The boy stood across the room from him, the backs of his knees against the bed. Voldemort didn't know what a human Horcrux could be capable of, but he knew the boy had already seen inside his mind several times, and took a moment to raise his Occlumency shields. Though his own mind was inaccessible, he could feel the anxiety practically rolling off of Potter. The Dark Lord took a step forward, and the boy-who-lived a step back. Voldemort could tell he was trying to be brave, but his expression faltered for just a moment. It took all of Voldemort's will power not to revel in that fear, but he needed the boy to think they were on the same side.

A few tense moments passed, neither Wizard moving. Voldemort raised an arm towards the boy, holding the phial containing the potion in Potters' direction. The boy flinched, as if he were expecting worse. He probably was.

"Drink."

**~X~**

Here he was. A man who inspired both fear and loyalty in countless others, a man with powers beyond the understanding of those who actually knew what those powers were, a man who wasn't supposed to _exist_. Yet here he was, standing before Harry and demanding he drink some strange blue liquid. Harry's face twitched a bit, but other than that, didn't move. Since Voldemort had walked into the room, his scar had begun hurting worse. Harry didn't trust anything about the situation, a part of him was still trying to convince himself that this was just another dream, and he really had lost his marbles. But he had never been a participant in his dreams before, so this had to be real. At least he wasn't dead yet. If Voldemort wanted him dead, Harry was more than aware that he would be.

"Now now Harry, we can either do this the easy way, or the hard way. Regardless, you are going to drink this."

The boys' eyes widened behind his glasses. How did he know his name? Harry certainly hadn't told him, nobody had asked, could they have been watching him? For how long? What about Alex and Nikolai, were they in danger too? Or anyone at the shop, anyone he knew? But this still didn't make sense, what made him a better target than anyone else?

His thoughts stopped suddenly, colliding with one another in his mind, blocking anything coherent from coming up. The difference between him and them; how Harry hadn't realized sooner, he didn't know, it was probably the adrenaline keeping him from thinking straight. Somehow, they knew about the accidents, the incidents, the times he had done things that no matter how hard he tried to explain it to himself, he could never make sense of. Harry's eyes were practically bulging from his skull, he was struggling to control his breathing. Harry tried to move further away from the Dark Lord, but the furniture behind him stopped him. Harry's head spun to the side, his focus stopping on a glass-doored cabinet for a split second. The next thing he knew, the glass panes shattered, sending arrow-like shards flying across the room, straight towards Voldemort and himself.

Voldemort turned towards the glass, his expression unfazed, and raised his other arm towards the glittering fragments. Without warning, as if the room were a snap shot, the glass froze. It was like the space had become a vacuum, the shards frozen in a state of suspended animation, before dropping gracelessly to the ground. Harry turned his attention back towards Voldemort, who was now eying him again. Harry swallowed; he really had no idea how he did that, but the Dark Lord did not appear to be amused. He sighed briefly, and Harry felt a chill run down his spine.

"Very well, the hard way it is."

Before the boy could even tell that Voldemort had moved, he found himself pinned to the bed. Harry thrashed back and forth, and tried to push him off, but to no avail. Harry very nearly screamed, the sudden physical contact with the man made him feel like his skin was on fire. Harry could feel his pulse in his ears, his head was spinning. They were now at eye level with one another, unreadable blood-red orbs staring down stubborn, yet terrified green.

"Hng, Get off of me-gah!"

Harry had only opened his mouth for a second, but that was all the time the Dark Lord needed to uncap the phial and pour toe contents down Harry's throat. The boy tried not to swallow, but Voldemort was holding his mouth and nose shut, successfully stopping him from breathing.

"Harry, all you have to do is drink that, and I'll let go. You do understand that, don't you?"

His tone was almost mocking, but Harry didn't care. Little flecks were starting to dance across his vision, he needed to _breathe_. He needed Voldemort to let go too, yes, but he needed to breathe more. Harry closed his eyes, and choked down his pride, along with the blue concoction. If his theory was right, it was probably some kind of poison, but what the hell. He was already a dead man, this was just a less personal way of dying than he had expected.

However, he was pretty sure this wasn't what dying felt like. If anything, this felt like it was helping. As soon as Harry felt the liquid warp its' way down his throat, all his muscles relaxed almost instantly. He felt a bit lightheaded, like he was suddenly floating, he didn't even notice Voldemort standing up or letting him go. Harry's breathing evened out; there just wasn't any pain anymore. Harry took a deep breath, before slowly sitting up.

"What...what was that?"

He asked cautiously, while stretching his arms a bit. Though, the action was more to see that he still could than anything else. Hesitantly, Harry raised his gaze to look at the Dark Lord. He had seen him before in his dreams, which, all things considered, probably weren't actually dreams, but this was his first chance to really take the man in face to face. It was strange really, how he wasn't quite so terrifying once Harry's head stopped pounding. Intimidating, powerful, and awe-inspiring, yes. But, perhaps terrifying wasn't the right word. Harry's mind then drifted back to one of the many raids he had watched the man lead, and changed his mind. Terrifying was a great word. Or perhaps, conflicted was a better choice. The man seemed to be almost smiling, though it was still a dark expression. Harry wasn't sure why he was so amused, he just hoped it didn't have to do with him.

"That was nothing to worry about, just a pain relief potion. I could tell that my presence bothered you, and I couldn't very well have that."

As Voldemort spoke, he stalked across the room, circling Harry like an animal would its prey. Harry swallowed, turning his head to watch the man. Did he want Harry dead or not? Wait, what had he said that was? A potion? What the hell was that supposed to mean? The green-eyed boy took a deep breath. Voldemort didn't want him dead; Harry certainly didn't know why, but he was alive. So, he might as well ask a few questions, and if he was going to ask, he might as well start with the obvious one.

"What do you want with me?"

Little did Harry realize that was exactly the question the Dark Lord was looking for. A faint smirk graced his thin lips, but Harry missed the action.

"Ah, I had assumed you would know when we brought you here. It only made sense, considering your abilities. You can imagine my surprise when I realized you really don't know anything about my, about _our_ world."

Voldemort was now standing by Harry's side, but facing the opposite wall. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, but Harry didn't know if it was supposed to be for reassurance, or to keep him in place if he panicked. Harry neck was bent upwards and to the side, his gaze on Voldemort's profile. It was strange seeing a face without a true nose, but from what he knew about the man, it suited him.

"Our world?"

"You're a Wizard, Harry."

Harry froze. He was...a what? Was he actually supposed to believe that? That he was some sort of wizard, that magic existed? That this man, that probably everyone here was also one? What kind of an explanation was that? Apparently, it was the perfect one. Because one the initial shock settled, Harry realized it explained everything; the glass breaking, the fires, the dreams, his unbelievable ability to survive on the streets. That didn't make it easy to believe.

"I'm...I'm a what?"

"You're a wizard. And from what I can deduce, a fairly powerful one at that. Even if you've had no real training to speak of. But perhaps that is for the best..."

Harry's head spun as he tried to wrap his mind around Voldemort's words.

"What do you mean 'for the best'? How is it a good thing that I never knew that I'm...that I'm a wizard?! Someone must have known!"

"Harry, I wouldn't know if anyone knew. Usually Wizarding blood runs in families, but sometimes our kind find themselves born from _Muggles_, and they have no family who understands what they're going through. Surely if your parents were magic, they would have told you. Did they not?"

Harry looked down for a moment, ignoring that he didn't actually know what Muggle meant.

"...My parents are dead. If they were magic, I'd have no way of knowing..." _But from how my Aunt and Uncle acted around me, I'm sure they knew_, he added silently.

Voldemort nodded, as if he knew exactly was the boy was thinking. Because, to be frank, he did. The Dark Lord's hand had moved from Harry's shoulder, and was now stroking the top of the boys' head reassuringly. He was pleased, the boy was taking this in far more easily than he had expected.

"Ah, I see," The Dark Lord continued, feigning ignorance regarding the deaths of Lily and James Potter, "then perhaps you will never know. However, you still don't know why you are here. That, I confess, it my doing. While I truly intended to kill you, I realize that course of action was, premature to say the least."

Harry paled considerably at the comment. He had suspected as much, but he didn't expect Voldemort to be so blunt about it.

"Yeah, I think I figured that out. If you really were going to kill me, I'd be dead, right?"

The words were laced with venom, but there was no bite. The tone was for Harry's reassurance only, he knew he wouldn't be able to fend the other man off if he chose to attack. Unless of course, he caused another accident, but he had no way of controlling those. Surprisingly however, the Dark Lord didn't seem upset. If anything, he chuckled.

"Yes, you would be. That you know that though, leads to why you are here. It appears that somehow, you are able to see inside of my mind, and have been doing so for some time. I confess that I only recently noticed, and I feared you to be an enemy, trained to invade my mind and steal knowledge from us. So I sent my men to capture you, and-"

"Wait a moment, how do you know what I've been seeing?"

Harry interrupted, eyes widening. He stood up suddenly, placing a few feet between himself and Voldemort. There was so much to take in right now, it had taken him a while to register what the man had said. He turned to look Voldemort in the eye, his exterior strong but only masking how nervous he was inside. The Dark Lord smirked again.

"Harry, I am a highly skilled Wizard, do you really think me incapable of looking into a persons' mind to verify information? Once I recognized that someone did have access to my thoughts, it didn't take long to find you. After Lucius and Rookwood brought you hear, I searched your mind to confirm that you were the right person."

"...and you did that after I got here?"

"Yes, back in the dungeons. You should remember it."

"No, I remember you touching my forehead, then seeing _your_ life."

**~X~**

_He was ten, maybe eleven, wearing a grey uniform he had clearly grown out of, peering at a doorway. He knew he had never seen the man before, that he was no family. He feared for a moment that the man was the doctor, come to test him again._

_He was seventeen, walking down a corridor in what could only be a castle. His robes bore the serpent crest, and he wore it with pride. Everyone turned to watch him, and he smiled. These fools worshipped the very ground he walked upon, and he would have it no other way._

_He was seven, sitting in a garden outside an orphanage. The boy had been speaking with someone, and had just turned to realize that someone had been a garter snake. He wasn't afraid. For the first time, he almost felt like he had a friend. The other boys had killed the snake later that day. He decided friends weren't worth the pain, he didn't need them._

_He was eleven. The hat had just called the name of his new home, 'Slytherin!'. Eagerly, almost too eagerly, he went to the table of his house mates. The boy was only met with judging eyes._

_He was sixteen. It was Summer Holiday, and he couldn't be where he truly belonged. That didn't mean he wouldn't try and accomplish something. Little Hangleton was a long way from home, so (he hoped) no one would know he had been there. His father was behind these doors, and he was almost afraid to continue on. He took a deep breath, and went anyways._

_He knew what he had to do._

_He was eight. They had just found Billy Stubb's rabbit hanging from the rafters, and Billy was crying. Good, he deserved to suffer. He'd always been mean to Tom anyways._

_He was fourteen, and not sure whether he was more alone, or more at home than ever. He belonged in the Wizarding World, but those he had the most in common with saw him as nothing. They said he belonged with the Muggles, but how could he stay with those pathetically ignorant beings? _

_They didn't understand him; they resented him for being different. No, he never would. The boy looked up from his sitting spot in the second floor girl's lavatory; the sink that was in front of him had vanished, revealing a tunnel of sorts. Tom Riddle stood up and wiped his face. So what if neither world wanted him? Let them be fools. He would make all of them regret it. The boy took a step forward, down the proverbial rabbit hold._

_He would just have to build his own world._

**~X~**

For the first time since this encounter began, it was Voldemort's turn to be frozen in shock. No, he distinctly remembered using Legilimency on the boy, watching the memories of Harry Potter, seeing exactly what to do to manipulate him. His own thoughts should have been inaccessible, especially to a boy who barely reached his chin. Yet this child had the audacity to claim he'd accomplished such a feat? He turned his gaze down, to look the boy in the eye. For a moment, he thought he would use Legilimency on him again, to prove this to himself, but if Potter was telling the truth, he couldn't risk the boy seeing anything else. However, this variable skewed everything. Voldemort was only confident in his plan because he believed himself to know everything that Harry knew, and the Dark Lord had no idea what he had seen.

"Well, not all of your life. I mean, just, bits and pieces of when you...of, when you were a kid... You seemed to spend a lot of time in this really old castle, and-I really don't know how I did that, if that's what you want to know, alright? Weird things just, they just happen around me, I don't know how, or why, I can't control them!"

Voldemort could see that the boy was anxious. He was taking deep breaths, probably in an attempt to not blow up another cabinet, and appeared to be carefully considering his next words. The Dark Lord himself was a bit anxious as well. However, the boy hadn't gone into a full blown panic attack yet, so he must not have known anything that could work against him.

"...You've told me why you brought me here. But, what do you want with me? Why am I still here?"

The Dark Lord eyed the teen curiously. There it was, that spark in his eye that said, 'no matter what your answer is, I'm not going down without a fight'. But his tone was calm, cautious. Perhaps the boy wasn't as much of a Gryffindor as he expected, there may have been a bit of his own house there too. Voldemort paused for a moment, then turned away.

"We are at war. Our world has been for some time. I'm sure you're already aware that I'm leading half the battle. And I am winning, but not by as much as I've led my opponent to believe. Harry, you have great potential, anyone could see as much. I want you to join my side."

"You want me to join an army and fight for a group I didn't even know existed an hour ago, over a war that I don't even know what it's about? Fat chance."

"Harry, I'm not expecting you to step onto a battlefield, or even truly join us for some time. I'm simply offering you the spot, should you choose to take it." Voldemort had walked over to where the glass had landed previously. He bent over, and picked up one of the larger fragments before returning to his full height. "Until you decide whether or not you will, I am offering for you to stay here. Learn about the world you belong in, about _magic_. For all I know, I could be wrong, though I seldom am, about your power, and may choose not to induct you into my army at all. Or perhaps you will choose to leave of your own accord, after you learn." The Dark Lord was sure that wouldn't be a possibility, once he finished brainwashing the child. He turned back around to Face Harry. "You see, this is a no loss situation for you. You could find the answers to all your problems, everything you've never truly understood, and if you don't like them, you can leave. Although, I very much doubt you'll want to."

The Dark Lord turned back to face Harry. The glass fragment he had selected appeared to be melting in his hand. But instead of running down and dripping on the floor, it was pooling around edges that didn't exist, reshaping itself. In a matter of seconds, the glass had turned into a small crystal bird. Harry could only watch in a mixture of bewilderment and intrigue. So far, he had only really seen magic to cause chaos and destruction, but this was so delicate, harmless even. The glass creature fluttered from Voldemort's hand to Harry's shoulder, but when Harry turned to take a closer look, it had begun shifting again, this time into a serpent.

"What do you say, Harry? To having a place where you finally belong?"

Harry looked down, and considered everything Voldemort had said. The glass snake had wrapped around the back if his neck, and was now resting on both his shoulders. Harry turned his neck to look at it; it really was a pretty little thing. The light was hitting its' scales at all sorts of odd angles, creating all sorts of sparks and prisms within it's' form. Harry could have just watched it for hours, because it was simple. It didn't understand the complexities that plagued the condition known as being human, and in a way, Harry envied it for that.

He had a life, back in London. It wasn't much of one, just a job and a few friends, but it was his, and he had worked hard for them. Yet, he couldn't really say he knew any of them that well. Yes, he liked Alex and Nikolai, but never let them terribly close. They were always the ones pushing closer, and he would miss them, but anything they knew about him they fished out for themselves, and anything he knew about them he just figured out. To be honest, he was still terrified of what would happen if they found out what he was capable of. Maybe Voldemort was right, and he did belong here. But was this really a better option? Stepping into a war zone? The boy reached up and scratched the glass serpent under its transparent chin, momentarily lost in his own thoughts. As he did, the creature appeared to melt, pooling back together in a puddle at his feet. He couldn't deny that he wasn't curious, that much was sure.

"There's this word you used earlier, Muggles. I'm not sure, but, from what you've said, I think it means a non magical person...You really don't like them, do you?"

The boy didn't make eye contact with the Dark Lord until he reached the end of his sentence. He knew it was an audacious question to ask, and he already knew the answer. But still, he felt like he needed to hear it. Voldemort paused before speaking, as if determining whether or not the comment was worthy of an answer.

"No, I don't."

"Why?"

Voldemort was almost stunned. It was such a ridiculously unnecessary and naive question, so how did he not have the answer for himself? He had seen the boy's experiences with those pathetic creatures; Potter should very well have shared his sentiments. Yet, he didn't, and that frustrated Voldemort to no end.

"They're weak, pitiful even; the only thing they're actually capable of is killing each other.  
>And yet, we feel the need to hide ourselves from them. The only time they're capable of coming together is when they find something they think is worse, so they can destroy it."<p>

"I think you're just mad, because of how they treated you. And after seeing that, I can't blame you. But, why didn't you ever run? I mean, it's a little late for that now, but, it helped me."

"Funny, how living on the streets can be considered an improvement. I would think that speaks for itself."

The room grew deathly silent. Voldemort wanted nothing more than to crucio the boy for even suggesting that his problems were nothing more than a result of his long-forgotten childhood. But he couldn't, he needed Potter on his side. Yes, he could very well give up now, and lock the boy away. But then there was always the risk that he would be found, or escape, or kill himself, or any other number of things that could go wrong. No, ensuring the boy's loyalty, as difficult as it would be, was the only sure course of action. Harry was watching him, waiting for an answer. His expression was completely unreadable to the Dark Lord. It was curious, almost trusting, but it also reflected someone who had survived far more than most his age. Someone who could "understand" the struggles of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Voldemort sighed to himself. Tom Riddle was long since dead to him, but if that was the side he had to use to protect his soul, so be it. He prepared to answer, but before he could, Harry spoke again.

"...Alright, I'll do it. I won't make you any promises about staying permanently, but, why not? Sure, I'll stay here as long as I'm deciding."

There was something terribly annoying about this boys' habit of surprising Voldemort, but at least this was a surprise he was happy with. The Dark Lord grinned, pleased with the outcome of this talk.

"You've made the right choice, Harry. The right choice indeed. Now, you will stay in this room, you'll get lost if you wander about the castle. Also, get some rest, your lessons will begin tomorrow afternoon."

Voldemort turned and began walking towards the door. He knew the boy would have many more questions regarding why he was here. The explanation he had given was paper thin at best, and he did not wish to deal with them now.

**~X~**

Harry wasn't sure what to say, he'd be starting tomorrow? Already? What if he failed, what if he blew something up? What if he realized he was horrible at magic? Or history, clearly he had to learn a new history, right? Well, he'd never really bothered learning the normal-no, the Muggle one, so that shouldn't be too difficult, he reasoned. A thousand new questions flooded his mind, but only one made its' way to his lips.

"Wait! Erm, one last thing-"

Voldemort was standing at the door, his fingers already resting on the handle when he turned back.

"Yes?"

"Well, em, where...where exactly are we?"

Harry felt foolish for asking, but in his defense, no one had bothered to tell him. At least he suspected they weren't in England, but he hadn't figured more than that out. Finally, Voldemort answered.

"Albania. It's a favorite country of my ancestors."

Harry could have stood there for hours, asking question after question. But before the thoughts had the chance to verbalize, the Dark Lord vanished from the room.

**~X~**

There were many things in this world that Severus Snape very much loathed. He loathed his memories, particularly the ones about James Potter, and mostly the one of his greatest mistake- when he had lost her forever. He loathed the Prophecy, and how it had ended her life. He loathed himself for sharing the prophecy, and for later failing to protect her and her son. Everything he did was for her, for Lily, and she would never know it. Yes, there were many things he loathed in this world, but the one before him at this moment had nothing to do with his inner demons. However, that didn't stop him from despising this one just as much.

Because nothing could possibly be more _fun_ that handling a drunken Bellatrix Lestrange.

Today's job was supposed to be easy; Visit the Malfoy's family estate, deliver the usual message about Dumbledore and how the order was failing, regardless of whether they were or not, and leave. Instead, he found Lucius locked in his room moaning and whimpering pathetically, while Bella sat in the main living area slowly draining the family's stores of elven wine. And that was how Severus Snape found himself waiting on the sofa in Malfoy Manor, across the table from Bellatrix Lestrange, waiting for her to sober up while she rambled incoherently, all so that someone would receive his phony message to the Dark Lord, and he wouldn't have reason to be punished at the next meeting. Yes, he had managed to take the bottle from her, but working the glass out of the hand of the severely delusional witch was out of his capabilities.

For the most part, Bellatrix didn't seem to say much of anything. Every now and again, she would wail hysterically, and she kept repeating to herself, "He must have a reason for this, he must, he must!". The best Severus could deduce was that her husband had done something exceptionally stupid, but that shouldn't have had her so worked up. Everyone knew Bellatrix and Rodolphus were only tied together by their loyalty to the Dark Lord, and short of that were nothing more than an arranged pair. Severus sat there, resting his forehead in his palms, wondering whether or not he would lose his sanity before she became worth speaking to. Then, she said something that made the potions masters' blood chill.

"I swear, if I get my hands on him, I will kill him, this is all Potter's fault! All of it, all of it..."

Potter. A name Snape had half expected to never hear again, yet, despite how badly the former Black was slurring her words, he had heard it, clear as day. She couldn't have meant that Potter, no, not Lily's son, it must have been a new recruit, probably a half-blood with the same name. He sighed in an attempt to keep his carefully crafted mask in place. He couldn't show any sign of weakness; not now, not ever.

"Bellatrix, you'll have to be more specific. What do you mean by, 'Potter'?"

Bellatrix laughed, and leaned forward. She very nearly fell of the excessively cushioned chair she had selected, but caught herself at the last second.

"Why, I mean _bitty, baby,_ Harry Potter! Hah, the Dark Lord claims to have caught him, and, and we won't be killing him! _Hah! _I would think at least, that, that he would trust me of all people to know! Hah, though, he didn't trust you Severus, nooo, he doesn't trust you at all._"_

Bellatrix's voice trailed off at the end, as her attention turned directly towards Severus, while the man could do nothing more than sit there and listen.

Only two thoughts were running through his mind. One; he had another chance. They had already lost Lily's son once, but he could save him, save Lily, this time. If _only_ he knew where the boy was, but he had time to figure that out. From how Bellatrix had responded, it appeared that the Dark Lord didn't want to kill the boy, which made little sense, but Severus didn't care. There was hope, Harry Potter wasn't dead yet. He would have to tell the order at once, but to call an emergency meeting would risk alerting their enemies that they had reason to act. No, he would have to wait until their next meeting. At least that would be coming up tomorrow, he could wait until then.

The second, was that if Bellatrix was willing to let that much slip, than she was far more intoxicated that she appeared. If word of this got out, they were all dead.

Severus stood up and turned to leave the manor. The odds were in his favor that Bellatrix would remember nothing, but Snape had never been one to trust chance. He looked back, and spared Bellatrix one last look before brandishing his wand. She looked back at him, still as delusional as ever, watching him in a sort of sick curiosity.

"Severus, don't you know it's rude to point your wand at a Lady when she's drunk."

The statement wasn't worth gracing with an answer. There was only one thing he needed to say.

"_Obliviate!_"

Before Bellatrix could react in her drunken state, she slumped over, unconscious. Severus had only removed the last twenty minutes or so of her memories, but with any luck, she wouldn't remember him being here at all. Yes, he still had a status update to deliver to Lucius, but for now, it was more important to leave before the psychotic witch awoke.

He would just have to tamper with Lucius's memories later.

**~X~**

**I originally planned on making this chapter longer, but I REALLY wanted to post it before next year *shot*. I initially planned on ending this chapter with the Order of the Phoenix meeting, but that ended up being too long, so it's going to be the opening for the next chapter instead. (Don't get your hopes up for a fast release though, there's only a page of that done.) Sorry!**

**Voldemort's speech patterns are pretty much inspired by the speech he gave the Death Eaters in the fourth book after his Resurrection. As much as I feel the movie adaptation was just... ok, I adore how Fiennes played that scene, with absolute perfection. Also, I may have been a little more proud of myself than I should have been for giving Voldemort Hagrid's signature line~ XD**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


	6. Chapter 6

**l can't believe it, within 24 hours of posting Chapter 5, at LEAST a dozen more people watched this thing, and I didn't even like how chapter 5 came out! So far, there are 158 people watching this story, that's just incredible! Thank you everyone, thank you all so much! I'm really not much of a "reply to every review" person, I think I've only ever replied to one. But every one you guys have written makes me light up inside. I really don't know how to explain why you guys all like this story so much, but thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.**

**Also, I didn't realize that center aligning the text actually bothered anyone, I just thought it was pretty, hehe. So, from here on out, I'll keep the a.n. on center, and the actual story on left-align**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

He wanted nothing more than to tell her just how beautiful she was to him. But that would have only hurt her more. At least, that was what he told himself. Maybe he was just rationalizing his own fears. He wasn't sure anymore.

Hermione Granger, the girl with the bushy hair and the slightly-too-large front teeth, was the one who had him so flustered right now. Awkwardly, he ran a hand through his ginger hair, and glanced around the sitting room. Hermione didn't move, she just continued to stare out the window, watching the rain, occasionally glancing down at the book in her lap.

It had become a tradition for the two of them, Ron and Hermione, to spend the last month before term started at the burrow. Neville had used to join them for these weeks. To say things hadn't felt right for the last two years would be a gross understatement. Yeah, they could beat around the bush all they wanted, the whole freaking Order, but Ron wasn't stupid enough to think Neville was still alive. It had nearly killed Hermione to admit it, but she didn't think he was either. He knew this was hard on her; after all, Neville was the first person Hermione had lost to this war. Ron tried to be sympathetic, and for the most part, he was. But after losing his Father, he just sort of, stopped caring about Neville's death. Except then he'd take a moment and look at the girl sitting across the table, or at the end of the library, curled up by the window, or by the fireplace in the common room, smiling and laughing, and he'd know she was trying not to cry again. That was what kept Ron going; not Dumbledore's speeches, even Dumbledore wasn't inspired by those, not any driving desire to blow up Death Eaters, not even his Gryffindor sense of justice. He just wanted to make Hermione smile again, a real smile, like she would in their third year while they skipped down the streets of Hogsmeade. If it took breaking into the enemy stronghold and firing the killing curse at Voldemort himself, then he would gladly. Anything, even facing Voldemort, would be better than the tenseness that filled their days within the sitting room of the Burrows.

The two could hear voices coming from the adjoining kitchen, where the Order of the Phoenix was holding their weekly status meeting. Ron could, and probably should have been, a part of this meeting, but since Hermione wouldn't be allowed to join for a few more months, he thought it better to wait with her. Besides, Fred and George would tell him everything that happened later.

Hermione had gone back to pretending to read her Aramaic Dictionary, and Ron back to staring at his thumbs with no real idea what to do next. He should be there, with his family, helping in this war. For Merlin's sake, his dad had died fighting for the cause, and he was just sitting here! But he couldn't leave Hermione alone; she was always alone. It wasn't like her family knew what was going on, that there were people disappearing every day. And whether or not they were dying, or just going into hiding, nobody knew. They didn't know that the Order was losing, they didn't even know there was a mad killer bent on taking over Europe running amok! Though, only a handful of people knew you-know-who was back anyways, so he couldn't fault them on that. But still, Hermione couldn't talk to her parents, she couldn't join the Order, despite being more skilled than most of the current members, and she didn't exactly have any other friends. It was an easy choice for Ron, staying here with her. He loved her, not that he would say it. But he was a Weasley still, and if they were anything, it was loyal to their own. His thoughts had been jumping back and forth like this for the past two hours, since the meeting started.

"Go."

Ron snapped back into reality and looked up. Hermione was watching him, he could see warmth hidden behind the sadness of her eyes. She smiled faintly.

"Go to the meeting, you know you want to. I'll be fine out here."

There was a brief moment of tension, broken by an awkward, forced chuckle from Ron. She always could read him like, well, like a book. Either she knew him way too well, or he was too predictable. Ron stood up, and turned towards the meeting.

"I'll be sure to catch you up on things, 'kay 'Mione?"

He turned his head back to say to her, more of a statement than a question. She nodded, and turned back to her book. Ron looked down for a moment before stepping out of the peace of the sitting room, and into the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. He could hear the all too familiar monotone of Snape, the greasy bastard. Ron couldn't tell what he was saying, but whatever it was, it was probably laced with snark and thinly veiled insults, if he chose to veil them at all. The young Weasley almost regretted choosing now to join in; he could barely stand listening to Snape talk about the uses of flobberworm mucus, much less politics and warfare! Fortunately, he had done so abysmally in Potions that he didn't have to take the N.E.W.T. level coursework, but of course, Hermione was. Ron could only barely tolerate the man for a few hours a week over the summers, how 'Mione could put up with him almost every day? He would never understand.

No sooner than Ron stepped in the doorway, the overgrown bat stopped speaking. And Remus Lupin practically threw himself across the kitchen table, appearing as though he would kill Snape where he sat.

"He's lying, He's got to be lying! NOT JAMES' SON YOU BASTARD!"

Ron froze; He remembered when Remus Lupin had been their Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor in his third year. Sure, the man was a werewolf, but he was always the voice of reason, he never blew up like that. Usually, Ron was the first one shouting at meetings like this. Mad-Eye and Cedric Diggory had both jumped up, and were restraining the Ex-Professor, but only barely. Holding back a mad werewolf would be a near impossible task for anyone, even if you were a Tri-Wizard Champion and an Ex-Auror. Lupin's eyes were still enraged, but there was a sudden look of desperation in them.

"Tell them you're lying, He can't- No, even if he was still alive, there's no way-no, not James' son, no...IT CAN'T BE TRUE! IT CAN'T!"

Remus had almost calmed down for a moment, but only for a moment. The man was struggling again to get out of Mad-Eye and Cedric's grip again, and managed to tear his arm away from the Hufflepuff. Just before he could draw his wand and cause any serious injury to come to the potions master, not that Ron would have minded, a young auror, Nymphadora Tonks, stunned him. The werewolf collapsed, slumped over the table, and the room fell into silence.

"...Sorry 'bout that, I'll just, I'll move him to...to the other room."

Tonks finally said. Cedric moved to help her, but she raised a hand to stop him, and continued on her own. The rest of the room went back to their own thoughts, as the metamorphmagus half carried-half dragged Lupin out of the room. Ron's gaze scanned back and forth across the room, taking in everyone's reactions. Snape, the greasy git, looked...well, unreadable, as usual, smug Slytherin bastard. Cedric seemed anxious, as if waiting to find out more about, well about whatever had the order so worked up. From the looks on Fred and George's faces, Ron almost thought they'd eaten a bad batch of puking pastilles, but he knew they took The Order seriously, and wouldn't. Come to think of it, the Order was the only thing Fred and George seemed to take seriously. Mum looked like she would cry any second, Professor McGonagall was trying to keep her composure, but was clearly in shock, and a few people were physically shaking. Dumbledore wasn't even there, so whatever information Snape had was probably big enough that he had been told before the meeting, and needed to think it over in peace. The silence had gone on long enough, Ron couldn't stand it anymore. He wasn't a hot-blooded Gryffindor for nothing, after all.

"Would someone mind telling me what the bloody-hell just happened? Lupin just went nuts, he never does that! Merlin, what did the greasy git say this time? You-Know-Who's decided that every werewolf in Britain either takes the Dark Mark or dies?"

He knew it wasn't a fair comment to make. Based on the context, the best he could determine was that a friend of Lupins' had a son, and the poor bloke had been killed. He shouldn't have said what he did, buy hey, Snape brought out the worst in him. The youngest of the Weasley boys walked to the seat once occupied by the ex-professor, and sat down.

"And who's James?"

For several more uncomfortable moments, no one spoke, no one moved. Ron could feel several sets of eyes on him, and they almost made his skin crawl. Just when Ron felt he would blow up again, Cedric Diggory spoke up. Diggory had joined the order right after he graduated, and Ron was sure it was because he felt guilty about Neville's disappearance. Disappearance, not death. For some reason, he thought Neville was still alive, but he was almost the only one left.

"Erm, Ron...James was a good friend of Professor Lupins' when the Professor was a student...he died around the end of the first war. And well, he had a son, who-"

"Yeah, that's great, should I know who he is?"

"Yeah mate, he was a member of the original Order of the Phoenix...and he was...well, erm, Ron, you've sort of jumped in at the middle of the story, James isn't even the important part, hehe...erm, Severus, you said it really well the first time, would, um, would you mind?."

Ron turned his attention to Snape. Whatever this was, it was bigger than he imagined, clearly. Cedric was usually ridiculously articulate, he'd even given the graduation speech at Hogwarts for his class, instead of the head boy or girl, yet he was reduced to stuttering and passing the story on to someone else. Ron hated it, but for now, the Slimy Git had his full, undivided attention. Snape cleared his throat, and several people flinched, as if they were trying to avoid hearing it again.

"The Dark Lord has recently acquired a new recruit. Whether this recruit is a true follower, or is only there for conveniences sake, or if the he's even taken the mark, is unclear. I can't even be sure he exists, seeing as my source is the drunken ramblings of Bellatrix Lestrange. But, according to her, the Dark Lord has found Harry Potter. Bellatrix seems to be under the impression that the Dark Lord doesn't plan to immediately kill the boy, but I remain skeptical."

Ron sat there, mouth gaping open for a few moments while he processed the new information. Did Snape really mean Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-Only-To-Disappear? And was he really trusting Bellatrix Lestrange, the first person mad enough to ever break out of Azkaban, as a reliable informant? That, and Snape had only answered half the statement, something didn't add up.

"Wait, so, You-Know-Who has a new recruit, and he's found Harry bloody Potter?"

"No you imbecile, Harry Potter _is_ his new recruit. Not that I would expect you to come to that conclusion on your own, your marks were always horrific in class, not to mention-"

"Everyone, please, can we calm down? I think we have bigger things to worry about than us not getting along. This could very easily change the face of the war, and not in our favor."

Diggory interrupted the duo before their conversation could turn into a full blown argument. Ron sat back, but he didn't relax, or stop glaring at the overgrown bat across the table from him. Leave it to Cedric to try and keep the peace, or at least keep everyone on topic. An uncomfortable silence settled again, before Fred spoke up to break it.

"He's right, you know. I mean, sure, most people are too dense to even know there's a war going on, and no one wants to listen to Dumbledore saying He's back, especially when he doesn't have any proof. But if You-Know-Who and his followers decided to step forward, and showed off that they had Potter on their side, who knows how much of the Wizarding World would follow?"

"Yeah, they'd all either follow like sheep, or just give up."

George echoed back. A handful of members nodded in agreement. It finally dawned on Ron why the Order was so shaken by this. Harry Potter had been missing for ten years now, not many people thought he was alive, and those who thought he was, also believed there was no way he could come into their world after so long. If this really was Harry, then his first exposure to the Wizarding World would be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ron, along with almost every member of the Order, knew of the Prophecy, and its contents. Harry was the _only_ one who could stop the Dark Lord, the only thing they could really do was hold Him at bay, and they couldn't even do that terribly well. They were losing, and they knew it. If Harry was fighting against them, then the war was as good as over.

But Ron couldn't accept that, he just couldn't. His Dad had died fighting for this cause, his best mate had died because of it. He couldn't let that be for nothing, it would be no better than spitting on their graves.

"You guys have got to be kidding me. How do we even know it's Harry? We're really going to take the word of a drunken Azkaban escapee relayed by a spy? And if by some chance, this really is Harry Potter, how do we even know they're fighting together? I saw instead of seeing this as a death sentence, we take it for what it is, an opportunity. You-Know-Who and his followers found Harry for us, so we just have to break in and take him, convince him that You-Know-Who is the bad guy!"

"Leave it to a Gryffindor to simplify a much more complicated issue to the point that it is beyond recognition. Mr. Weasley. The boy is not being kept at any safe-house that I have access to. He is being kept in the Dark Lord's personal stronghold, furthermore, the area is protected by the Fidelus Charm, the Dark Lord being the only secret keeper, and there are only about seven of his followers with access to the area. They are only allowed when summoned through the Dark Mark, and do not know the actual location. Clearly, since we are not there searching for the boy already, I would hope you would deduce that I am not one of his followers whom he trusts with that information. He knows that I spend a great deal of time around Dumbledore, and quite rationally, fears that the Headmaster would find the information."

Ron turned back to glare at Snape again. Slick Git thought he had the answers to everything, didn't he? Really, it got annoying after a while.

"Erm, everyone, I think we need to take a moment to figure out our next move."

Tonks announced, alerting the room that she had returned.

"Remus alright?" Mad-Eye grunted. Tonks nodded in response. "He's still a bit shaken up, but I think I've gotten him to calm down." Mad-Eye nodded back, and slid over to let Tonks back in her seat. Ron was more than eager to start planning, he felt like he had to do something, anything.

"Alright! So, does anyone have any ideas?"

"Wotcher Ron, we're going to have to make you sit this one out."

"What?! But why, that doesn't make any bloody sense! I'm of age, I should be allowed to-"

"Order rules, you can join when you're of age, but Dumbledore won't let anyone participate in combat unless they've at least finished their time at Hogwarts. You still have a year to go."

Ron stared back at Tonks, dumbfounded. What was the point in having him there if he couldn't fight? There wasn't one, it was just stupid! Without making any effort to hide his irritation, Ron stood up.

"Fine, I'll leave and sit at the kiddy table until you decide you need me here."

As he turned to leave, he saw his Mum make a move to try and say something to him, but Ron didn't want to hear it. Sure, he didn't have any experience in dueling or fighting, save for schoolyard brawls against Slytherin, but that didn't mean he didn't have something to offer. And, ok, so he wasn't sure what he had to offer either, but how would he know unless he stuck around to try? Muttering under his breath, he left the room to find Hermione. She would want to hear everything that just happened.

She would probably have a _great_ plan.

**~X~**

Harry wasn't sure how he expected to spend his first day as a wizard. Maybe he thought he'd be learning incredible spells, or flying, or finding out what sort of other creatures exited out there. Whatever he thought he'd be doing though, this certainly wasn't it. It was nice to be out, there was no doubt about that, but going back to London? What was the point in that?

They were in the heart of Downtown, Harry and the tall Aristocrat supervising him. Of course, it made sense that he wasn't walking around downtown London with Voldemort. The whole, not-having-a-nose thing, would probably terrify all the normal people-Muggles, he reminded himself. If he was going to be a part of this world, he better start using the right words. But being in London in the first place? That didn't add up at all. Harry had lived in London for ten years, and he had never seen hints of a magical underworld. No place that made robes, or sold wands, or had any sort of sign in the window saying, "hey, if you're magical, shop here!". The boy kept looking towards his guide, trying to find any sense out of this in his expression, but all he could find was thinly veiled disgust, and constant muttering. Of course, Harry thought, leave it to him to get stuck traveling with Lucius Malfoy, the most cynical person he had been unfortunate enough to encounter in some time. He wasn't sure what it was, but something about the blond rubbed Harry the wrong way. Although, he shrugged the feeling off, blaming it on their first encounter being one chasing the other through an alley.

The odd duo had Apparated, which apparently was what teleporting was called, to London some time ago, and seemed to be wandering aimlessly. Well, that wasn't entirely true; Harry was wandering aimlessly, Lucius knew exactly where he was going. He just hadn't been kind enough to share the information. By the time they passed by the third or fourth shady looking alley, Harry's patience was shot. He needed to know where they were going, and what being back in London had to do with being a Wizard, preferably now. After all, he was tired of following the man around like some sort of a lost child.

"Alright, I get that you're more of a shoot first, talk later sort, but could you tell me what the hell we're doing here? And I thought we left Britain, why are we coming back?"

Of course, he was glad to be back in a familiar city. But this still didn't make sense. He was under the impression that he'd be starting lessons today, not...whatever this was. Lucius Malfoy turned back towards the boy, making no attempts to hide the sneer on his lips. He sighed in exasperation.

"Contrary to your ill-conceived beliefs, I attacked you because I was under orders to. Now, I am under orders to supervise you and take you to Diagon Alley."

"What's that?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. Clearly, amusement was the last thing he would be experiencing on this outing.

"It's a shopping district. Surely, you didn't think you'd be able to just begin studying; you'll need books, potions ingredients, a wand, or did you expect to just jump in and figure it all out?"

"Hey, I've done magic before without a wand! And If there's a whole Wizard's district in London, how come no one's ever found it?"

"Because believe it or not, we actually make an effort to conceal ourselves. Really, do you think this is a place you can just stumble into my mistake? No, you have to know exactly where you're going if you wish to get there. As for your magic before this point, it's been weak. Completely uncontrolled. Ergo, you need a wand."

The more Harry thought about it, the more he realized what Malfoy was saying should have been obvious. That didn't mean he was happy about being spoken to as if he was a complete moron, or that he felt the need to grace his attitude with an answer. He was too stubborn to. And shouldn't the aristocrat have realized that there was no way he could know this stuff? Harry wasn't sure why, but Lucius Malfoy seemed to greatly dislike him. Not that Harry was terribly fond of him, but that was different; Harry thought he was going to die the first time he met the man. What was his excuse?

The crowds began to thin as they approached an odd, fairly out-of-place old pub, with a rusted old sign hanging above the doorway. Harry was sure he had never seen the place before, for he would have remembered the name; "The Leaky Cauldron". People continued to walk by it, passing as though the place were invisible. To them, Harry realized, it probably was.

"Can, can they even see it?"

Malfoy smirked.

"No, they can't. It's embarrassing, really, how little they can see. I can only wonder how they've kept themselves alive for so long...ah yes, I've just remembered, there's one last thing to take care of before going."

Before Harry knew what the man was talking about, Lucius had turned to face him, wand drawn. The blond muttered a few words that Harry couldn't make out, and the next thing Harry knew, he felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, followed by an odd tingling sensation. When he opened his eyes, he hadn't realized he closed them, everything was suddenly very...blurry.

"Yes, you won't be needing those anymore, not for a while at least."

A hand, presumably Malfoy's, reached towards Harry and plucked the glasses from his face. Immediately his vision cleared, and for a moment, the aristocrat's gaze softened. But only for a moment.

"Once we enter The Leaky Cauldron, you are to follow me. Don't wander off, and _don't_, speak to anybody. Is that understood?"

"What exactly did you just do to me-"

"I said, is that understood?"

Harry's expression darkened a bit. No, he wasn't going to just listen for the sake of listening, not without an explanation.

"How about first you tell me what you just did to me, and then I'll consider it."

Harry said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. However, Malfoy's gaze didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened. Suddenly he grabbed onto Harry's shoulder and pulled him to face a shop window. The boy literally froze at what he saw.

The store itself was unremarkable, it could have sold anything. No, what Harry was fixated on so intensely was the glass, and his reflection in it. Well, he supposed it was his reflection, since it was right in front of him, but, it wasn't him. Not in the slightest. The image before him was of a boy several inches taller, with much higher cheekbones, very light blond hair, and quite possibly the coldest eyes Harry had ever seen. He wasn't Harry anymore, if anything, he was a younger version of the man accompanying him. The boy opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for something to say, anything, but nothing came to mind.

"It's only temporary; the charm will wear off in a few hours on its own. And if I must, I am more than capable of removing it sooner."

Lucius spoke, as if knowing exactly what Harry was thinking. Then again, from his expression, the boy's thoughts were blatantly obvious. He raised a hand to touch his new cheek, as if to check that it truly was his.

"It's just a glamour charm, a variation of transfigurations. I've used several to make you look like my son. You see, I'm a fairly important figure in our Government, and I can't have people questioning why I'm out with an unknown _child_. You will follow me at all times, you won't speak to anyone, and most importantly, you won't mention the Dark Lord. Period"

Harry blinked, and turned to face Malfoy.

"Why can't I? I mean, you're on his side, so wouldn't your son-"

"We serve the Dark Lord in _secret,_ that's why. His entire plan revolves around secrecy, very few even know that he is alive. And above all else, ours is a culture you know nothing of. If you stepped out of line, not only would you be making a fool of yourself, but of my son, and my family. And _that_, would be suspicious. Now, I'm not a person who likes to repeat themselves, so this is the last time I'll say this; you will follow me, you won't speak to anyone, and you _won't. Wander. Off_. Do I make myself clear?"

The two wizards stared each other down for some time. Crowds of muggles continued to pass by, as ignorant of the seriousness of the argument as they were the pub to their right. If there was one thing Harry hated more than anything else, it was being spoken to as though he wasn't capable of taking care of himself. Alright, so maybe starting random fires didn't constitute as "taking care of himself", but still. It got the job done. But, maybe this wasn't about control, or anything like that. Harry's expression softened a bit; perhaps this was more about pride. As much as he didn't like Malfoy, he was still masquerading as the man's' son. So what if Harry didn't know much about families, or how they were supposed to act; that didn't mean he'd never wanted to. So, at least for a while, he would…

"Perfectly. But just because I'm pretending to be your son doesn't mean I'm going to act like I have a stick shoved up my arse all day."

Harry finally answered, giving his signature grin. His cheek was met with a slap over the side of his head, to which Harry replied by laughing. Apparently, it was easy to get Malfoy worked up. Harry would have to remember that. The aristocrat very nearly rolled his eyes, before realizing it was unbecoming of someone of his status, or some rubbish like that, and turned back towards the Leaky Cauldron. Harry could have sworn he heard the man muttering under his breath, something about 'needing to think of an excuse for why his son would be dressed in that horrific muggle attire'. Harry couldn't help but laugh again. But this time, he wasn't sure if it was from amusement, or a nervous reaction. He was about to get his first real glimpse at a world no one else around him knew existed. If he decided to go back, would they believe him? Somehow he doubted it. And to be completely honest, Harry wasn't thrilled at the prospect of trying to prove it. So his choice had come down to; stay in the wizarding world, and abandon any life he had before, or go back, and pretend as though it never happened. Harry shook his head; now wasn't the time to think about that. For now, he just wanted to know what wonders lay behind those antique, and by antique, he meant really, really old, wooden doors. Malfoy had already reached them, a gloved hand resting elegantly on the doorknob. He turned back to face Harry, somehow appearing both smug and bored.

"Well, are you coming or not?"

Harry just smirked, and pushed past the aristocrat to get the door himself.

He wouldn't miss this for the world.

**~X~**

**I hope no one is too bothered by my choice to make Harry's language a bit coarser than it is in Rowling's work. I feel it suits how he was brought up more. Also, I'm so sorry that this chapter is so short. I had ideas for 3 more scenes for this chapter, but the first one I was stuck on how to begin the first one, the second felt too important to be left for the end of a chapter, and the third doesn't make sense without the second, T_T. I know you guys waited for a really long time for this chapter, and it's so short, I'm sure you're disappointed. Unfortunately, you'll be more disappointed tomorrow, since the next chapter will be an author's note.**

**Sorry.**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


	7. Chapter 7

**I have no excuses**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_When I run through the deep dark forest long after this begun_  
><em>Where the sun would set, trees were dead and the rivers were none<em>  
><em>And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place<em>  
><em>But there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace<em>

**~X~**

He lied. Harry would have gladly missed The Leaky Cauldron a hundred times over.

The establishment was bustling, but dark, a bit dingy, and had a sort of odd, moldy smell about it. Despite the smell, it was clean. But, the entire bar couldn't have been larger than a high school science classroom, and had as many people packed around the counter as you would expect in school during sex ed. That was to say, many, and all men. They were loud and boisterous, and one could barely hear their own thoughts over the many cries of, "Another round 'ver here, Tom!" that echoed through the establishment. Harry would have thought a bar for wizards would be much more impressive, but really, The Leaky Cauldron seemed like any other bar in London. The only exception being this one had more pointed hats. The most confusing part to Harry, was that he didn't see any way to get to Diagon Alley, or anywhere at all from here. There was only one door in the leaky cauldron; the front. There didn't even seem to be a door to any sort of restroom. Did Wizards not have to use the toilet? Wait, no, he'd been using one his entire life, it was a stupid thought. Harry shook it from his mind, and went back to analyzing the space.

All silly thoughts disregarded, Harry's previous observation remained the same; there was no other door in or out. Harry turned towards Lucius's back, hoping the man had some clue what he was doing. Lucius simply glared at him, for no reason that the boy could come up with. Harry shrugged, and chose to assume the man was simply incredibly easily irritated. This action only seemed to intensify Lucius's gaze. "Malfoy's, do not, shrug. At least make an effort to act your part." The blond leaned over to hiss at him, emphasizing each word as if chastising a four year old. Harry glared back for a moment, before remembering that he wasn't Harry anymore, he was this man's son. But how was he supposed to act like someone who he had never met? Someone who's bloody name he hadn't bothered to remember! Perhaps, Harry decided, he best course of action would be imitation. _So, all I have to do is walk about with a scowl on my face, and act like I have a stick shoved up my arse, got it_, Harry thought, but dared not say. He straightened his posture and replaced his bewildered staring with indifference. This seemed to subdue the elder Malfoy enough to make him turn and head for the hallway behind the bar. Hesitantly, Harry followed.

The hall behind the bar was maybe five feet long, and just wide enough for the two men to stand side by side. There were three hooks on one wall, two bearing hats, one bearing a coat, and an umbrella stand in the corner. But short of that, the hall was completely bare.

"What exactly are we doing he-"

"Maybe, it would be best if you stood aside, stopped speaking, and followed my lead." Malfoy interrupted. The now-blond Potter was about to snap back about how it would be easier to follow if he knew what was going on, but Lucius placed a hand in front of the boy's face before he could. So, he settled on crossing his arms and pouting.

"Malfoy's don't pout, Draco." Malfoy said while drawing his wand. Harry chose to ignore him, but was thankful to hear his temporary name again. Carefully, he tapped a pattern across the brick wall. To Harry, it appeared to just be a rough circle, but every brick was tapped with such precision, that it had to be some sort of pattern. After seven bricks had been pressed, Lucius slipped his wand back into his coat, and they waited. Harry didn't know for what, but the answer came in a matter of seconds.

it began slowly, but one by one, the bricks began shaking, as if they were trying to free themselves of the mortar. Then, the first one popped. But instead of falling to the floor, it stopped, and turned itself to the side. Then the next, and the one after that, Harry didn't care that he was supposed to be an aristocrat, much less an aristocrat who had seen all this before probably. His jaw dropped as the wall opened itself to create a doorway, perfectly sized for the two of them. It took every bit of Lucius's willpower not to roll his eyes at the boy.

"Stop gaping, it's just a wall." The elder said.

"No," Harry answered. "It's absolutely brilliant."

**~X~**

It was a matter of wonder how anyone managed to navigate the narrow streets of the alley, especially when one considered how packed they were. Perhaps it was an even greater wonder how so many people could fit. But that only seemed to make Diagon Alley all the more amazing. Everywhere Harry looked, there was something new. To the left, a row of shops selling everything from robes to cauldrons to whatever an apothecary carried. Women stood dressed in cloaks and robes, and elaborately decorated pointed hats, gossiping about the latest actions of the Ministry, and what Missy Berkhorn had worn to tea last week, whoever that was. For a moment, Harry was painfully aware of how out of place he must have looked in his denim jeans and grey t-shirt, but the moment passed soon enough. A group of teenagers only a few years younger than himself passed by, all wearing matching black robes, lined in blue and emblazoned on the chest with a raven. Two boys stood outside a bookstore, flourishing their wands and changing the colors of the shop sign over and over, before the shopkeeper chased them off. To the right, a group of girls stood around the window of a pet shop, admiring some strange, brightly colored puff balls. A woman leaned out her window above everyone to shout to her husband in the crowd below, reminding him to pick up a copy of the Quibbler for her. The man seemed to roll his eyes, but nodded nonetheless. Another boy walked by him, this one in black robes lined in red, featuring a lion on the left breast, who stopped to glare at him for a moment before carrying on. Children spoke with parents about how they needed this book and that, or how they really wanted a new racing broom. Another group in matching robes, this time lined in yellow, sat around a table eating sundaes, and everywhere you turned, you were certain to see an owl perched somewhere. Harry was fortunate that the man he was supposed to follow was tall, or else he would have lost sight of Malfoy in a matter of seconds. Even so, the man was hard to keep track of with so much to observe. Somehow though, in spite of being distracted by every new color and shape, Harry found himself standing by the side of Lucius Malfoy, reading the most worn and antique sign on this stretch of road; _Olivander's, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C._

If Harry thought the Leaky Cauldron was old, then Olivander's was practically from the stone age. The paint on and around the door had long since chipped away, the words on the windows old and faded. The wear on the wand shop was clearly a result of use however, not decay. One could practically look at the doorframe and read how many feet had stepped onto it, how many anxious hands had paused to rest on its wooden sides before stepping in. Lucius placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked in. Harry was sure to any onlooker, it would have appeared to be a normal fatherly gesture, but he knew better: it was a reminder to keep him under control, to act "like a Malfoy would". The boy shot a glare at him from the corner of his eye, but only lingered on the thought for a moment. He wasn't going to let some pain in the arse aristocrat ruin today.

A small bell hanging over the door rang as the two apparent Malfoy's entered the establishment. Olivander's itself was much smaller than its exterior appeared. The entire shop was maybe one room, with a desk in the front, and shelves holding thousands of boxes lining the back. Some rows appeared new, practically gleaming, while others had accumulated a fine film of dust, and still, there were rows of boxes that looked as though they hadn't been touched in years. Harry was about to ask how they were supposed to pick out a wand, with all of them being behind the counter and all, when a voice called out from behind a shelf to their right.

"One moment, one moment! First years I presume? Wait but a moment, I'll be there in just a-"

The voice grew gradually louder as the owner of the sound came closer and closer, tripping over his own feet and knocking over piles of books and boxes and who knew what else. Until between two shelves appeared a man long past his days of youth, silver haired and withered, but quick, and apparently, quite surprised to see the pair.

"...Lucius Malfoy, a surprise, no doubt. What can I do for you?"

**~X~**

Garrick Olivander was quite used to customers coming back. True, it wasn't a common occurrence. After all, most wizard's treated their wands as an extension of themselves, and cared for them vigorously. But, that didn't mean accidents didn't happen. The most common reason for replacement would be that the wand broke in a duel. Sometimes wands were lost though, or a wizard could go through a life altering occurrence, making their old wand unsuitable. Once, he had even met a lad who's wand had broken while crawling under the Whomping Willow tree on Hogwarts grounds! But, that was a good many years ago, and those were all more careless wizards. In all his years, he had never had a Malfoy come back for a new wand.

Ever.

"Lucius Malfoy, a surprise, no doubt. What can I do for you?" He asked nervously. Garrick somewhat dreaded seeing the young heir to the Malfoy estate with him. Draco's first trip to his shop was a memory he preferred not to dwell on, considering they had to go through a good fifty wands before they found one that suited him, and the boy was not known for his patience. A trait he unfortunately shared with his father. However, the young Malfoy was acting quite peculiar this afternoon. Usually, as was the case with the elder Malfoy, their faces revealed little of their thoughts, and never betrayed their motives. Draco on the other hand, though clearly trying not to show it, appeared interested, curious even, towards his settings. That was another thing that seemed wrong; Malfoy's never tried to hide their thoughts. They simply stayed hidden. The young Malfoy wandered off to examine some half completed wands at Garrick's desk, and Lucius stepped forward.

"Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? I hired a dueling coach for my son, and he chose not to pay attention during a lesson. As a result, his wand broke, and he needs a new one. Now let's try and make it quick this time..."

a few hairs on the back of Garrick Olivander's neck stood up as Lucius spoke, each word dripping with venom. Yes, he would try and make it quick; this was a visit he was not eager to drag out.

"But, of course. If I recall, his last wand was Hawthorne, Dragon Heartstring? Perhaps we should try another of those combinations."

Whether or not he recalled the wand, was not an issue. He remembered each and every one, no matter how long ago it had left. Draco however, no matter how impassive he tried to appear, seemed to have no idea what he was talking about. Lucius did not seem pleased, but Garrick refused to comment. These were affairs he wished not to meddle in, especially considering the alleged history of the Malfoy family. True, no one had ever proven the allegations against them. No one could say for certain that the house of Malfoy were supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, nor could they prove that Lucius was not under the imperius curse when he served the Dark Lord before his fall, but everyone knew. Oh, did they know.

Feeling more uncomfortable in his own establishment than he would ever desire, the greying man turned back towards the corridors of wands that made up the majority of his shop. Row after row of ash, willow, holly, birch, rowan, he had tried many wandwoods, and found dozens suited for his work. Yes, wands he understood, the simple fusion of wood and core, paired with a slightly less simple means of imbuing the entity with magic, and the delicate art of hand carving each design, these all made perfect sense to Garrick. The supposedly simple fusion of people and societies? A matter he would gladly do without.

After a few moments of pacing, the elder wizard returned with a small selection of wands. True, he would have preferred to spend more than the mere seconds he had choosing, but this was a visit he was more than eager to cut short. Draco had drifted towards his own front counter, and seemed quite fixated upon several books strewn there. Curious, seeing as they were very average academic texts left by some poor second year student earlier. Hopefully he would be coming back for them soon. Lucius however, was acting more than normal, looming in the corner and attempting not to make his sneer quite so obvious. Garrick coughed lightly, and Draco's gaze bolted up in surprise. Lucius merely shook his head in something that resembled disappointment, or perhaps disdain.

A few moments of shuffling and scrambling passed before Garrick returned, carrying an assortment of boxes of varying lengths. He coughed softly, to gain the attention of his customers. Lucius's gaze remained impassive, or bored, it was hard to tell, while Draco's eyes shot up as if he were startled. Garrick wondered if the boy had been struck with a nasty memory charm, or some sort of personality altering curse. Regardless, he hoped the change was for the better.

"My boy, if you would step forward?"

Confidently, he did so. At least, Garrick was certain the boy though he had. In truth, his walk was forced and excessively cocky Garrick turned his focus back to the wands, removed the first from its box, and handed it to the Malfoy heir.

"Here we are, Hawthorne and dragon heartstring, a Welsh Red if you happen to be interested, eleven and a half inches."

"Alright. So...what do I do with it?"

The room fell silent. On any other man, Lucius's expression would have been little more than a twitch, but on a Malfoy, it may as well have been a full-blown fit of rage. Even he couldn't hide his fury. No, this was no memory misfire, something was truly and genuinely wrong, Garrick was simply misfortunate enough to be caught in the middle.

"N-not to worry, just give it a flick, then we'll see what happens."

The boy eyed the wand curiously, and waved his arm rather ridiculously. Garrick had hoped this would be the wand, and this meeting over with, but the fates were laughing at him, he was sure of it. Instead of a charming display of light, or a well-executed spell, his jar of petunias by the window exploded. Draco jumped back and set the wand down as quickly as possible, as if it were on fire. His mouth gaped open, as if to say 'what just happened?', but he seemed to remember something and remained quiet.

Only a few seconds of the more-than-awkward silence passed, but it could have easily been hours.

"Not to worry m'boy, we have many more to try, many more!"

The older man was desperate to find something, and fast. Instead of returning to his pile, after that dreadful display he knew none of those would do, he ran back towards the shelves. It wasn't terribly unusual for a wand of the same core and wood to disagree with a wizard later in life; the wizard may go through a life-altering event, or perhaps the temperament of the beast the core came from would be too different. Nevertheless, it happened, but never before had he seen such a negative result. The spellwork should have only been weaker, or a bit unpredictable. Not a match, but not so horrible as to blow up an innocent flower pot! Garrick flitted from shelf to shelf with a nervous tremble, collecting wands on the most extreme ends of the light and dark spectrum. They weren't labeled, but he knew them all regardless. The man glanced over his shoulder after grabbing the third wand or so; "Draco" was no longer doing anything, save for keeping to himself in a very hesitant fashion, and Lucius was watching him, tapping his left foot impatiently. A chill ran down Garrick's spine. Without looking, he grabbed one last wand and scurried back.

Hurriedly, Garrick lined the four boxed on the table. His hand was shaking so much he very near knocked them to the floor, but caught himself at the last second. The boy they called Draco stepped forward, though he still appeared somewhat nauseated. His hand drifted over the boxes, as if he was trying to pick the best one. Or maybe he was simply hesitant, which seemed far more likely.

"It's quite a-alright, just, give it a go!"

Garrick's voice shook, betraying his attempt at seeming calm. How could he truly be calm though? When one meddled in the affairs of Malfoys, of their own accord or not, ill tidings followed. No, he would feel much better once this appointment were over, Garrick was sure of it. He plucked the wand furthest to his left and passed it to the boy.

"There we go, Phoenix feather and Beech, 9 inches. Have at it now."

He waved for Draco to try his hand at this wand, and silently prayed for better results. Draco looked about the shop for a moment, and aimed the wand towards the bell by the door. As he flicked his wrist, Garrick braced himself for more explosions. Fortunately, though not for the bell, instead of exploding, it simply melted.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was hoping I could make it ring." Lucius grabbed his son's shoulder, silencing him.

"Can we perhaps hurry this along? My patience is wearing thin."

The few hairs on the back of the old man's neck stood on end.

"W-well, you know that it is the wand that chooses the wizard, I can try but, this will take as long as it takes. Err, here, try another."

The wandmaker grabbed one at random from the pile, and pushed it into the Malfoy heir's hand. Garrick then took a step back, and prepared himself to rush for more wands once this one failed.

Draco seemed to eye this one for a while, without even attempting to use it. It was a most curious gaze, as opposed to the ever more impatient one of his father.

"Is something wrong, my boy?" Garrick asked, hesitantly. Draco smiled a bit.

"No, not at all. I'm just thinking about this one. Something about it just feels...right. I think this one is it. What is it made of?"

The wand felt right. That was enough confirmation for Garrick to call this appointment over. He stepped forward to take a second look at the wand that had chosen young Malfoy.

"Let me see, this one is, phoenix feather and...oh, holly..."

Garrick knew something was amiss. He had made one other wand with the tail of this phoenix- just one. That wand had fallen into the hands of a young Tom Riddle, many, many years ago. That wand had become one of the most feared weapons known to the wizarding world. Not only was this wand it's twin, but this very wand had been held by Draco Malfoy when he was 11, and with disastrous results.

"Is something the matter, or can my son and I take our leave?"

Lucius remained behind his son, sneering and irritated. But no, there was more behind it, there was anxiety as well. Lucius seemed to wish to leave almost as badly as the wandmaker did. Garrick panicked.

"No, nothing is the matter, I can assure you! It is just most curious, your son's new wand."

"And what about it is so curious?" The elder Malfoy asked with condescension.

"J-just that...this wand, it, it has a twin...and it's twin is...well it's he, he-who-must-"

Lucius interrupted him.

"Is that truly all? I'm sure there are many cases of twin wands out there, far more interesting than this. Draco, step outside and wait for me, I'll finish in here"

Draco looked as though he were about to object, but Lucius gave him a glare that could freeze blood. With a slight pout, Draco left the shop, though the back of his head was just visible out the window.

The wandmaker's attention turned back towards the serpent in the room. Lucius's gaze may have turned to the side, but his focus was entirely on the matter at hand, whatever that may be. Garrick scurried back to his counter, eager to allow Malfoy to leave as soon as possible.

"Well, I-I do hope that young Draco recovered from his, dueling accident you said? Yes, yes, I'm sure he'll be back to his old self in no time! Now, the wand, yes,, that will come to-"

"Garrick,"

Lucius interrupted him. His voice was low, his tone calm, but there was a definite threat present.

"Stop playing such a fool, it's unbecoming of someone of your...intelligence. You know as well as I that more is at stake here, and I can't exactly have you spreading rumors. You do understand what I mean, do you not?"

He had turned to face Olivander once more, his hands resting delicately atop his cane.

"Yes, yes of course! I wouldn't tell anyone, I swear it!"

Lucius smirked dangerously.

"No, you won't, I can assure you."

Garrick's eyes widened for just a moment.

A wand was drawn, a flash of green overcame him. Then, there was only silence.

**~X~**

.**So, I did originally intend to make this chapter longer, but, you've waited long enough. Don't worry, the plot points that would have been in here will be included in the next chapter.**

**I'm going to be honest with all of you, I thought I wasn't going to finish this story. But, I received a few reviews recently, and they inspired me to keep writing. So, here we are, and hopefully I'll stick with it this time. Thank you all so much for waiting it out, I promise to get better.**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


	8. Chapter 8

**You know, looking back on this story, it's kind of funny who's POV's I've been able to write with ease, and which ones, not so much. Naturally, Harry is super easy to write, but so is Nagini, and Bellatrix Lestrange o_0. Voldemort, on the other hand, as much as I love him as a character, he is such a pain to write! I just never feel like I can truly capture his dignity. Ah well, here's to another attempt! Please enjoy~**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_I found you in pieces you'd been torn apart  
>A million one reasons to end before you start<em>

**~X~**

Lucius Malfoy felt infinitely better upon exiting the wand shop. His life had taken far too many turns for the worse as of late, and he had to spend more of his time groveling than any man of his status should be subjected to. Yes, sometimes it was nice to remind himself just how powerful he was. His attention turned back to the boy he was escorting, the one who insulted his own son's identity. It was strange, just yesterday he had pitied this boy, and wished him a quick death. Things were different when he was sure the boy was to suffer a slow and excruciating end to his tale, without ever knowing why. Now that he knew the boy would live, and furthermore, become one of them, he couldn't stand the child.

And whether or not he was of age was of no consequence. Potter was still, in so many ways, a child.

Still there was the matter of the twin cores Olivander mentioned. Potter, of all people, possessed the twin to the wand of the Dark Lord? Surely it was no coincidence, but something didn't add up. He concluded that the twin cores had to be related to his Lord's decision to not slaughter the insolent brat, and would investigate it later. In secret, to be sure.

The aristocrat paused to wonder if he should have taken more care with the wandmaker's death regardless. True, he knew it wouldn't be traced to him. Partly because any witness who could suggest he was the culprit would be too terrified to speak in court, he would make sure of that, but perhaps after the body was found he would plant some evidence. The wandmaker Gregorovich might make a good suspect, he thought. Lucius began to walk away, Potter right on his trail.

"You know, I kind of would have liked to thank him for his help-"

"Which would be unbecoming of a Malfoy. His job is to serve us, which he did. Why thank a man for doing what is expected of them?" Lucius snapped. Was this boy truly so ignorant? Obviously whoever had taught him his manners failed horribly. Lucius was about to go over his rules for the rest of their trip, when Potter yet again spoke up.

"Wow, you make your family really sound like a bunch of pricks."

Lucius clenched his jaw for a moment, and counted back from ten. Whoever had taught this boy his manners clearly not only failed, but deserved to have their tongue torn out from their throat. He took a deep breath before trusting himself to speak again, without screaming.

"You, may perceive us as such, but it is what is expected of us. The Malfoy family is one of the most powerful and influential wizarding families alive, and we do not stand for mingling with those deemed lower. Understood?"

Potter looked surprised for a moment, but shrugged it off. Good, shock was not an expression that his son wore well.

"I guess, but if you're so powerful and what not, why don't you just come out and say 'hey, we're working with-'" Lucius turned to glare at the boy once more, this time finally shutting him up.

"Perhaps, I should propose a new rule for this little outing. No more speaking. Period. Do you understand?"

The boy who wore his son's face pouted, but Malfoy was very pleased when he did not answer.

**~X~**

Harry did his best to land back at Malfoy Manor with his dignity intact, but when one was being flung from a chimney, that was a bit difficult. With an "oomph", he picked himself back up and brushed some dust off his jeans. A moment later, he could feel the glamours wearing off, and his vision blurring. Dignity aside, he was glad to be out of sight and back to being himself.

Diagon Alley had truly been incredible, even after dealing with Malfoy's horrid attitude after their visit to Olivander's. There had still been several more stops to make- first had been the bookstore, where he had very nearly made a fool of himself again by almost proclaiming his shock at the moving photographs, another stop to a basic potions supply store, and the neighboring apothecary, Harry had even managed to sneak off to the owl emporium, a breathtaking experience. Malfoy had considered getting robes as well, but Harry and Draco's frames were too different, they wouldn't have fit afterwards. For most of their trip, Harry had been able to wander about the shops, mesmerized by all the things he was sure everyone else had known about for years, while Malfoy took care of any actual purchases. Aside from the occasional glares from students in matching robes, everything went perfectly. It was strange though, the ones in green never joined in. He shrugged it off, it probably didn't mean anything.

After they had finished their shopping, Malfoy had led him to a series of chimneys. At least, he had assumed they were chimneys, until he noticed the stream of people walking in and out of them, accompanied by green flames. Harry watched them in horror for a few moments, before realizing that Lucius was already standing within one. He picked up a handful of dust, shouted 'Malfoy Estate', and threw the dust down only to erupt in a pyre of green fire and ash. Harry actually yelped, not that he cared if anyone noticed, and spent another ten minutes trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to do, before using the chimney himself.

Yes, it was all because Malfoy was a useless prat that he was late following, and had no clue what he was doing. Regardless, Harry wasn't going to let that bring him down. Today was a good day, he was finally going to begin learning magic. Real magic, not blowing up some glass, or burning a house down, but how to truly control and create virtually anything. It all seemed so overwhelming, but he was happy for it.

Harry finally took a moment to observe his surroundings, and the Malfoy Estate was worth observing. The living room he found himself in was very large, very ornate, and seemed to be designed around the theme of "hello, I'm rich". The floors were a dark, incredibly well polished wood, contrasting beautifully against the intricately carved stone walls, and the whole expanse was lavishly furnished. If he turned to look out the window, he could see an impeccably well maintained garden, complete with abundant flowering bushes and, were those peacocks wandering about the grounds? The entire thing was incredibly beautiful, and incredibly pretentious. It hardly felt like a home here, it was more like a museum. Sterile, cold, and meant as a display of power. Honestly, Harry had seen cots at his old shelter that felt more like homes than this.

Harry still wasn't sure why he was brought to the Malfoy home, and not back to the castle, but there was no one to ask. Lucius was nowhere to be found, and the entire manor seemed silent. In a cross between boredom and curiosity, he decided now would be a good time to wander about the estate. If he by some chance stumbled across something he wasn't supposed to, he could always pin the blame back on Malfoy. It was the stubborn prat's own bloody fault for leaving him unattended.

There was a slight nagging in the back of Harry's mind telling him to stay put and wait for someone to find him, but that feeling was immediately ignored. He couldn't just sit around and leave this place unexplored. He walked along the edge of the room, fingertips just brushing against the chair rail. The surface was rougher than it appeared, but only slightly. The boy's focus turned back towards the windows as he walked. Yes, those were definitely peacocks outside. Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled a bit, bloody peacocks.

The next room he stepped into, he imagined was the main entry. What other room would need a staircase that large so close to the door? He looked up towards the second floor, before his attention was grabbed by the crystal chandelier hanging overhead. Harry squinted for a moment, sure that he had seen it before, then he remembered. He had seen it in a book once, after asking Nikolai about Russian history. That chandelier had been in the palace of the bloody fucking _Czars._

Cold, sterile, pretentious, and now apparently, containing historical artifacts. Harry was very amused by how his point of this place being a museum was making itself for him.

He decided to explore the upstairs of the estate. Harry was sure the lower floor, as expansive as it was, would only be more of the same. It was now that he noticed the handrails of the stairwells were carved with a very strange texture, and several moments later that he realized they were meant to be snakes, spiraling down the staircase. A thought of the boys on Diagon Alley in the green robes adorned with the serpent came to mind. Harry looked at the intricate woodwork in confusion, wondering why these people were so obsessed with snakes. Especially talking ones.

The second floor wasn't quite as over the top as the first, but it was still ridiculous. The walls were still carved with intricate gothic-style carvings, but only to chair rail height, and instead of being lit with elaborate chandeliers, these hallways were illuminated by silver lanterns mounted just below the ceilings. As Harry drew closer to them, he realized there was no bulb or flame within them, they simply glowed. The light they provided was soft, just barely enough to illuminate the aisles, but the effect was quite enchanting, Harry admitted.

As he walked, Harry was quite astounded by just how many rooms these people had. He had passed two meeting halls, three parlors, several closed rooms which had turned out to be bathrooms, two separate libraries, a study, and a dimly lit laboratory he could only assume was for brewing potions. The green eyed boy couldn't imagine Lucius Malfoy keeping any of these spaces clean himself without laughing, and assumed the man's wife was probably the same, so they must have some sort of staff. However, Harry hadn't seen anyone since he began exploring. It was a bit unnerving, but he was sure someone, anyone, would turn up eventually. For all he knew, they were hiding behind one of these sets of doors, engaged in some scandal worthy of a drama series on the BBC. Maybe that's why he was peeking behind each and every door, or maybe he was just really, really bored. Yes, it was most likely the boredom.

When Harry considered that, it sounded horrible. Here he was, in a world with _magic_, with a top-secret hidden shopping district and God-only-knew what else, in an incredibly old home that was probably filled with even more magic, and he was still bored. There was no point in denying however, that he was incredibly anxious as well. Sure, in the past he had supposedly done some sort of spellwork, but that was entirely without thinking. Honestly, Harry still wasn't sure he fully believed any of this, or that he actually belonged here.

The next door to his right revealed a linen closet. How dull.

How did he know he could even trust any of these people? Harry had seen, or at least assumed he had seen them traveling across the country to hunt their objectives down, whether those objectives be material possessions, or body counts. Then again, there was a war, casualties were to be expected, he supposed with a shudder.

To the left, another study. This one was filled with all sorts of plants though, several of them moving. This room would be worth checking out again later. He made a mental note of it's locations.

What was this war even about though? Why was he supposed to care? Furthermore, how had they had any idea where he was, or who he was? Harry still didn't have any answers, and that was beyond frustrating. The last time he had seen Voldemort, the Dark Lord had said something about him being strong, but what did he mean by that? There had to be a reason why he could see into the mind of a man who claimed to be the most powerful man to ever live, but he was no closer to knowing why then he was when this world was all part of a dream. All he was sure of was that they weren't telling him something.

Harry turned down yet another hallway. How many bloody rooms did one home need? He could practically hear the mobs of starving peasants breaking in to kill the owners. It was amazing how many revolutions throughout history seemed to start that way.

Had he really agreed to stay here so easily? Sure, it wasn't exactly like Harry had so much going for him back in London, but what if people were looking for him!? They probably were, maybe he could write and let them know not to worry, that seemed like the best course of action. But still, he had just stepped into an entirely new world, he was about to study under a man who had no qualms about killing! What was he even doing? Harry took a few deep breaths and tried not to panic. This would all work out, he would just ask his questions whenever bloody fucking Voldemort-Tom-Whatever he wanted to be called felt like showing up. For now, Harry just needed to distract himself.

The boy absent-mindedly opened the next door, hoping to find a group of butlers engaged in a vigorous poker game played with Malfoy's own galleons, whatever those were, but expecting another empty meeting hall. Instead, he found himself in a bedroom.

Furthermore, he found himself face to face with a boy who looked half a corpse.

**~X~**

The two stared at each other for several awkward moments. Harry wondered if he should just turn and leave, but the other boy stared ahead blankly, before turning his head to the side.

"Err, sorry, I didn't realize there would be anyone in here, I actually haven't seen anyone since I got here."

Harry tried laughing it off, but as he realized the other boy wasn't listening, his voice trailed off. The boy was deathly pale, almost grey, his eyes slightly sunken. Harry couldn't tell if his eyes were naturally so dull, or if that was just a reflection of the dark bags underneath them. The boy's almost white hair wasn't doing anything to resolve his sickly pallor either. He was almost pitiful. Something about the pale boy in the bed looked like it had been strong once, but now was broken. Maybe beyond recovery.

It was after a moment or two of silence that Harry realized this was Malfoy's son, Draco, the very boy he had been at Diagon Alley. Still, that seemed impossible. His disguise had been strong and appeared proud, and a bit smug. This Draco looked as though he were wasting away slowly. Harry turned to look about the room, noting that it seemed mostly untouched. When was the last time he was even out of bed?

Harry trying to think of something to say. Perhaps, 'are you alright", or 'is there anything I can do', but none of the words felt right. Regardless, he opened his mouth hoping something tangible would come out. But before he could speak, the silence was broken by a loud _crack._ The ghost of a Malfoy didn't flinch.

They were no longer the only ones in the room, Harry realized with a slight jump. His eyes widened at the sight of their new companion; a diminutive, slightly green, very large eared….thing, with eyes the size of tennis balls, wearing what looked like a pillowcase. The creature, whatever it was, looked down, avoiding eye contact with the two humans. What the hell was it? It reminded Harry of a horrible lawn gnome he had seen on Little Whinging once upon a time. The glasses clad boy was so confused by it, he barely noticed when the creature began speaking.

"D-Dobby has been sent to get M-Mr. Potter...Dobby has been told to bring Mr. Potter to the downstairs library."

Harry had just learned two new things. Firstly, this bizarre creature, which he assumed was called Dobby, knew English, and secondly, the Malfoys apparently had a _third _library.

"Err, sure, alright, I'll be right behind you." He answered. The creature nodded, and stepped into the hallway. Harry turned back towards the door, but looked back towards the son of the man who already annoyed him so much.

"So, ehm, I'm sorry for bothering you. I hope you get better soo-"

"Shut up."

The younger Malfoy's voice cracked a bit, as if he hadn't spoken for some time. Harry froze for a moment in the doorway, confused. How had he already offended him? Malfoys seemed to be a very touchy group. The grey eyed boy turned to face Potter. He looked as cold as he did dead.

"What makes you worth any of this?"

A pause. Harry had no idea what he was talking about. Perhaps the boy was mad? Who knew, Harry shrugged the comment off.

"Yeah, I've gotta go now. So, err, get well soon I guess?"

The boy-who-lived-to-be-late stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. The gnome-creature was waiting for him, shaking slightly. Harry couldn't tell if it was just cold, or constantly jittery. He supposed wondering about it wouldn't help, and followed it downstairs.

He could have sworn he heard the boy sobbing.

**~X~**

The Dark Lord was not known for his patience. When one was working to build a new world order, one had better things to do than wait for those of lesser competence to catch up. This was not a new trait to him in the slightest. Even in his school years, when he had been forced to work with inferior students on brewing projects, it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to curse them with spells far beyond anything he should have known at the time.

And yet, here he stood. Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard to ever live, waiting in the library of one of the most inferior of his subjects, for the boy who was his sworn enemy not 48 hours ago. He had been in the middle of a meeting with some of his lesser men when Lucius had interrupted them to inform the Dark Lord of his return, as if Lord Voldemort had cared. True, he wasn't discussing pressing matters, but they needed to be mentioned. Malfoy at least had possessed the good sense to inform him of the twin wands privately, or he would have found himself screaming and writhing against the ground.

The Dark Lord turned to observe the library once more. It was among the smaller Malfoy libraries, and was hardly a broom cupboard compared to the ancient libraries of Salazar Slytherin, but, it was also seldom used. Were it to be destroyed anytime soon, it would be no true loss. The Lord turned his focus back to the open book on the desk by the window, filled with articles collected by Rookwood throughout the night. He stroked a long, skeletal finger down the side of the top clipping, an old print from a muggle newspaper. Yes, this room could very easily be destroyed, seeing as the boy he was waiting on had burned his childhood home to the ground when he was only seven.

The library doors opened behind him. Lord Voldemort turned to face his student, a very bewildered Potter, accompanied by one of the Malfoy's house elves. He waved for the elf to leave, who promptly scurried out the door, almost slamming them behind him. House elves tended to be annoyingly skittish, but this one was far worse than most. The Dark Lord was glad to see it leave. Harry on the other hand, was still staring at the door, mouth gaping open, as if it would reappear. It was a most undignified expression, but based on what he had seen of his life, etiquette had probably never been high on the boy-who-lived's list of priorities. Clearly, neither was respecting the time of his superiors.

"You, are late." The Dark Lord stated, regaining the boy's attention. He seemed apologetic, but only for a second before rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm late but you're the one I was bloody well waiting for. Unless, you have been waiting this whole time in which case, blame Malfoy. He sort of ditched me at Diagon Alley."

Voldemort stared at the boy for a moment. That was, definitely not the answer he was expecting. True, the Dark Lord didn't anticipate the usual show of groveling and pining he only half paid attention to, but he was expecting something slightly more becoming of the savior of the wizarding world than throwing Lucius off the proverbial broom. He actually found himself mildly amused by this exchange. But only mildly.

"Now now, I would hope Lucius didn't just leave you behind, he should know that would not end well for him..."

He didn't even attempt to hide the threat behind his words. The Dark Lord had always been a master of making others know when to feel fear, even when speaking barely above a whisper. A follower of his had once had the audacity to suggest that people feared him not for his might or power, but for his lack of a nose. Afterwards, no one knew what became of him.

Well, Lord Voldemort did, but he wasn't planning to share that knowledge anytime soon.

By now Potter had stepped forward to look closer at the books strewn across the table. The one containing the information Rookwood collected was closed, all that was present were the tomes Lucius had purchased earlier at the Alley. The Dark Lord was pleased to see that his potion was still working, but something was still amiss. The boy was in no physical pain, but Lord Voldemort didn't even have to touch his mind to feel the anxiety rolling off him. He sighed, this was much more what he expected.

"A jest, I assure you," the Dark Lord lied. "But I do expect he and I will have a lengthy discussion about this..."

That didn't seem to work, it appeared. The Dark Lord sighed to himself, for he knew what was coming. The dreaded 'I have lots of questions' discussion. He stepped past the boy, towards the sitting area by the adjacent wall. It was a sufficient area, two armchairs nestled before a fireplace, with a small table between the two, perfect for spreading books across. The Dark Lord motioned for Potter to follow him, and the boy did. The Lord walked slowly, for he knew what to say, but a few more moments to mull over his thoughts couldn't possibly hurt.

"Harry, I understand that you must be terribly confused as of now, and I do admit, I explained very little previously. Come, sit. We may as well put your mind at ease before we begin."

The boy only appeared to be half paying attention, with how much his gaze was starting about, but he listened well enough. The teen half hopped half collapsed into one chair, while the Dark Lord elegantly sunk into the other. The boy was fidgeting a bit, and Lord Voldemort could only hope this wouldn't take long.

"Now, what is it you wish to know?"

Harry glanced up, then back down, then to the side. He bit his lip slightly and pushes his glasses up.

"Right, where to start, well, might as well begin with an easy one... what the hell was going on with that talking snake?"

The boy`s focus was now dead set on the Dark Lord, and he would be lying to say he wasn't surprised. Of all the possible things there were to know, the first one the boy chose was the talking snake? Lord Voldemort cleared his throat.

"Nagini, is not a talking snake, such a thing would be preposterous. She is my pet, and is no different than any other snake. You misunderstood what happened yesterday. She wasn't speaking English, you were understanding Parseltongue. I presume you have never tried speaking to them before, or you would be aware of that."

Potter appeared visibly shocked.

"Snakes have their own _language?!"_

"Yes, Parseltongue." _And it is what has kept you alive this long._

"Alright, so I can talk to snakes, how?"

The Dark Lord feigned a confused gesture.

"Honestly, I cannot answer that." It wasn't a lie, but it was far from revealing anything. "Parseltongue is a trait not known to exist outside of the Slytherin bloodline, and I happen to be the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Your gift is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Your next question? And this time Harry, something a little less trivial."

The Boy-Who-Lived placed a hand on his chin and thought for a moment, before looking back up.

"So, I'm guessing 'why don't you have a nose' counts as a trivial question?" He said with a cheeky grin. The Dark Lord was not amused. Potter's smile, fortunately, disappeared quickly.

"Right, serious questions, got it. Sorry, I'm just...nervous, I guess. Alright, you said there's a war. Tell me about it. I've seen bits and pieces of it, erm, in your head, but I still don't know why it's going on. Oh, and while we're on that, how come I can see inside your head?"

That, was definitely more in line with what the Dark Lord was prepared to answer.

He paused for a moment, though more for dramatic effect than anything else. Rhetoric was of the utmost importance here. Every word, every pause, every gesture, had to be presented in a light that showed his army as the heroes in this story. At the same time though, they could not be true heroes, or they would not exist in secret. They were an army that saw what was just, what was right, and had been pushed to the edge by a society that refused to understand. Yes, that was to be his approach.

"Harry, our world is one with a long, and somewhat tedious history. For the most part, wizarding society has been one of isolationism, and fear. There have been times throughout history when muggles have discovered us, and they rarely ended well. Surely you learned of witch hunts at some point in your education?"

The boy shook his head no, in a somewhat embarrassed fashion.

"I spent enough time at the library, read what I thought might be important, but no, I never finished primary school."

Lord Voldemort nodded, understandingly.

"I see. Witch hunts are, for the most part, a result of mass hysteria and panic. One person believes another to be practicing witchcraft, or believes themselves to be cursed, and the next thing you know neighbors and friends are turning on one another, and executing the accused by whatever horrific mean they can imagine. Typically, these events are nothing more than muggles making fools of themselves and killing one another, but periodically they have identified groups of wizards or witches living among them. In far older times than these, they may have killed thousands of us, and the wizarding world has been hiding ever since. Long ago, this decision was made for the best, but this is a law from antiquity, a statute we have been hiding behind officially since the 17th century. I personally believe, as does my army, that we have no reason to hide anymore, that it would be better for all of us to step out of the shadows."

"And you thought naming yourselves the Death Eaters would help people to join your cause?"

"We were _originally_ known as the Knights of Walpurgis, but it never quite caught on." The Dark Lord snapped back. He took a deep breath, and placed a hand on his temple. This boy was incredibly frustrating, how was he to teach him magic without murdering the child? Perhaps it was for the best that Tom Riddle never became a teacher.

"Regardless, that is what this war is over. What our place in the world is. I will not lie to you, I believe wizarding kind to be superior to muggles in every way imaginable. I see no reason why we should hide from them, nor why they shouldn't grovel at our feet. Yes, I understand that I stand at the extreme, but that is how wars start. Two people stand at extreme ends, and neither can find it within themselves to compromise. I'm sure I have many followers who are not as extreme in their beliefs as I, but we all believe within the same range."

He paused to let the boy take it all in. Voldemort was sure that he wouldn't agree with everything he believed in, but that didn't matter. He only needed the boy to accept enough truth in his words to ignore the advice of those who he should have been fighting for. Though if all went well, he would never have to worry about the boy hearing any of that. Potter seemed to be accepting this much more easily than he had expected. Then again, from what he had seem of Potter's life, he was probably desperate to accept any answers, wherever they may come from.

"Who's on the other end?" Potter asked. The Dark Lord's train of thought was put back in focus at the question.

"There are many people who stand against us. The Ministry of Magic, our governing body, for one. They don't believe that Muggle's are ready to accept that they aren't alone, or perhaps they're too afraid for their own fates. They are politicians after all, they earn a living making sure no one knows what they're truly thinking. Then there is Albus Dumbledore, though he's lost all public credibility, mostly due to age, and another secret army, which he leads. They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix, and they are hopelessly outnumbered against us. Honestly, I doubt most of them even truly realize why they're fighting. They tend to be a stupidly loyal lot, and for reasons beyond me have grown attached to the old man."

"Maybe they're not fighting for him, but against you. I mean, you have sort of killed a lot of people, I can see why they might not like you."

The Dark Lord sighed, an action he feared would soon become far too commonplace for him.

"Harry, I'm going to step into your mind for a moment, just so I can see what the hell you are talking about. Just, relax."

He was calm, but incredibly frustrated as he pointed his wand towards the teen. Potter closed his eyes, and Lord Voldemort wordlessly cast a _legimens_. It wasn't necessary of course, the Dark Lord could have easily stepped into the boy's mind via the link to his soul, but he didn't wish to repeat the incident of Potter stumbling into his mind. There was far too much risk involved there.

Suddenly, Lord Voldemort found himself surrounded by a cool darkness. It was a familiar night, one when he had been a younger man. The Dark Lord stepped forward through the damp field, as his army, and himself, flew overhead twenty years ago. Bellatrix cackled to his left, and began burning the grounds to ash. Yes, Severus had told them of this place, before he had reason to doubt the man's loyalty. It was a secret camp, established by the Order to train new recruits. Better to be rid of them before they became problematic, he had decided. The Dark Lord smiled, he had forgotten just how shrill their cries were. Alas, now was not the time to revel in that. He turned his eyes from the equally vibrant reds in the flames, and stepped out from the mind of one Harry James Potter.

Now back in his respective mind, Lord Voldemort turned his focus back to the-boy-who-lived-to-frustrate-him. It would be best to keep this brief, he decided. The boy wasn't naive, but too much talk of death would likely prove troublesome.

"Those are old memories, most likely before you were even born. We had tried using reason, working with the Ministry even, but we were pushed to the brink, and desperate times do call for desperate measures. It has been a long time since I have personally gone into battle. Now that our war has stepped into the shadows, I merely direct it, and only involve myself when it regards more, precise matters."

"So basically, when you think someone else will fuck it up?"

"A crude way of putting it, but yes. Now, if you remember, we did establish yesterday that you may never even involve yourself in this war, and you'll have plenty of time to learn about the details later. I'm sure you have more pressing matters you wish to discuss."

Despite how frustratingly blunt Potter was, the Dark Lord did find himself somewhat amused. At least his horcrux hadn't become some sniveling coward with a flobberworm for a spine. Or worse, a Hufflepuff.

Potter thought for a moment. "Ok, you already said you don't know how come I can speak to snakes, do you know why I can see inside your head?"

"No", Voldemort nodded.

"Alright, then how come you were looking for me? Why were you planning on killing me?"

A trickier one this time, but the answer was predetermined nonetheless.

"I told you the other day that I feared an enemy of mine had trained you to enter my thoughts, to steal information on my men. Yes, I was referring to Albus Dumbledore. As inept as he is in his age, he is still a master of legimency, the art of entering another's mind," he answered to Harry's puzzled look. "I managed to track you back through the link, and sent Lucius and Rodolphus-"

"Rookwood"

"Does it matter? Regardless of who I sent, they were sent to retrieve you because I believed you to be a spy. It didn't take long for me to realize that you truly had no idea as to what was occurring, so I chose to spare you. I make no secret of my distaste for Wizarding policy regarding muggles, and I viewed your slipping through the cracks as yet another example of their failure." The Dark Lord expected yet another snarky reply from the teen, but was only met with silence. Fortunately, the silence was brief.

"I...I'm pretty sure my aunt and uncle knew what I am...at least, I think they knew something. I doubt they ever would have suspected I was a wizard...but I was sort of a weird kid."

"The greatest of us frequently are. Remember, you aren't the only outcast here." Lord Voldemort was almost surprised by how easily the words came to him. Yes, here he was, making the boy who could have been his undoing sympathize with him, even view him as being 'not so different from me'. "And that is why we fight. So long as we are to remain hidden, we will always remain outcasts. It's a cruel world out there, we would all be better off my way."

The man formerly known as Riddle turned his head towards the grandfather clock on the other wall. "Now Harry, we have a lot to learn, and I'm sure you're anxious to begin. I believe we have time for one more question though." He turned his focus back towards the boy, as if to tell him to make this a good one. Potter thought for a few moments, churning through everything he had heard today and attempting to select what was most worth addressing. When the boy looked up, it was made clear that the Dark Lord and Potter disagreed on what was worth addressing.

"Ah, what was that thing that brought me here, and, _why_ was it wearing a pillowcase?"

The Dark Lord's face twitched. It was a barely noticeable gesture, but is was far less unbecoming than planting his forehead into the table, as he wished to. He sighed.

"That, Harry, was a house elf. Essentially, a servant. And it was wearing a pillowcase because if it's master presents one with clothes, it is freed from service."

"That's a stupid rule."

"Many are, and?"

"And I dunno, I sort of felt bad for him...hey, I've got an idea!"

Just what Lord Voldemort was looking forward to, a half baked, juvenile, Gryffindor idea. "Very well, and that would be?" Potter smirked, and began untying his shoe.

"Well, I'm assuming Malfoy's his boss, but you're Malfoy's boss, and I thought Malfoy was sort of an arse today, so I want to get back at him..."

"And what exactly are you proposing?"

Potter looked up, grinning as though he had just discovered another use for dragon's blood, and handed something to Lord Voldemort.

"Give him my sock."

The Dark Lord blinked. Then, he chucked. Yes, the idea was juvenile, and half-baked, and ridiculously stupid. Yet, it reminded him of himself as a young student at Hogwarts, always trying to find a way to get back at whoever had wronged him. And no harm could come of amusing the boy every now and again, it would likely serve to make Potter trust him further.

"Very well, but after this lesson. Now, I take it you brought your wand with you? We begin now."

**~X~**

Tea at the Malfoy estate was no new task. True, these meetings had only begun a few months ago, but Severus Snape had already learned to navigate them delicately.

It had begun shortly after Draco's failure to assassinate the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Severus had known the boy would fail from the day Narcissa came to him begging for help, but never would the professor have imagined just how severe Draco's punishment would be. Not for a task he was assigned because it was known he couldn't do it. Yes, Draco was used as part of an experiment on finding a wizard without the Trace, but the trauma of whatever else he had gone through very nearly killed the boy. Severus could still recall Narcissa begging for his help, sobbing hysterically for her son's life. She hadn't needed to beg, Snape was the boy's head of house, and as such, was responsible for him. Saving Draco had been no easy task, considering even now he wasn't sure what was wrong with the boy, but he had lived. Even though Draco was stable now, he was far from alright, but the Malfoy's, primarily the Lady of the house, felt an obligation to show their thanks to him. That was how his weekly tea sessions had begun, but now, Severus was sure they had twisted into another was to keep an eye on him.

After his encounter with Bellatrix in this very sitting room the other day, he knew he would have to be careful. The Potion Master had intended to return yesterday, infiltrate Lucius's mind to see what he knew, and modify his memory accordingly. However, his meeting with the Order had been so hectic, he had never found the time. Now, he was essentially blind, and feared every moment of it.

Lucius Malfoy's absence only served to further his paranoia, though he didn't show it. He and the Malfoy head had never been close, not even now, but he was fully aware that if Lucius had a say in the matter, he was never tardy. While Severus sat alone, one of the family's several house elves arrived with a tray bearing tea, scones, and those ridiculous tiny sandwiched he never understood the point of, and disappeared just as promptly. Snape noted that it wasn't the usual bumbling house elf, but paid it little mind. Severus selected a cup of Chai, his nerves somewhat calmed now. If Lucius were aware of Bellatrix's little slip up, he wouldn't bother with any pleasantries.

Severus could now hear what he presumed was the head of the Malfoy estate approaching, muttering angrily under his breath. He heard something about, 'insolent brat', 'discharged elf', and 'strangulation, but couldn't bring himself to care. No sooner than he had taken his first sip, Lucius Malfoy finally appeared in the doorway. He was trying to appear collected, but was clearly upset by something. The head of the Malfoy family stopped for a moment, straightened the collar of his dress robes, and stepped towards the chair across from Severus, staggering momentarily. He selected a cup of Earl Grey. The disgraced follower and the traitor sat in silence for several moments.

Before the absence of sound became completely unbearable, Severus cleared his throat. Anything was better than the clinking of tea cups and the wind outside.

"I presume Narcissa will not be joining us today?"

Lucius coughed. "No, something earlier upset Draco, she's upstairs with him."

"And he still won't speak to anyone?"

"Severus please, can we stop pretending he'll recover? He's hardly made eye contact with anyone but his mother for months, wakes up screaming every other night, and yes, still won't speak to anyone!"

There were many things to be said of the Malfoy family, mostly negative, but in the end they were always defensive of their own. Lucius was practically fuming, but taking deep breaths now. The elder Slytherin had probably never noticed he had stood up while venting. After a moment, he returned to his seat, and lowered his temples against his palms.

"Forgive me, I never meant to upset. I only meant that he was such an eager student, and I had intended to learn whether or not he would be returning to Hogwarts this term. It appears that he will not, but perhaps I could continue to visit him, and-"

"There is no need to continue Draco's education." Malfoy interrupted. He looked up."Do you know what He did to my son? He didn't just remove his Trace he turned my son into a Squib."

Severus, at a loss for words, paused. This was the first he had heard of the matter, and he had been the one to save the boy. Then again, a loss of magic wouldn't affect any of his work, and the Malfoys had no obligation to share anything with him. Of course this was the sort of knowledge they would want to keep away from the public. Lucius's mind was likely already meticulously crafting his story for why Draco had not returned for his final year at Hogwarts. Anything would be better than 'oh, he tried to assassinate the headmaster and one thing led to another...'. As subtly as possible, Severus gripped the end of his wand. The tension in the room was growing, he didn't wish to stay any longer than necessary.

"Severus put down your wand, you look ridiculous sitting like that. I found Bellatrix passed out on that very couch the other day. The house elves already told me you were here at the same time, and given her hangover I imagine she already told you everything. Relax already, you look like you expect to be poisoned at any second. It's ridiculous."

Severus should have relaxed, but he only became more tense. There was no point in denying he was here, that much was apparent.

"And what is it that you believe Bellatrix told me?"

Lucius laughed. "Now, if she didn't tell you, I'm not going to. So why don't you just go ahead and tell me."

"Hrm, an excellent point, why don't I?"

The Malfoy head's face grew more stern. "An excellent point, why don't you? After all, if you admitted to possessing top secret information, information that we all know the Dark Lord wants out of the hands of the Order, we all know that would be my cue to eliminate you. Except that you forget, if I had a cue to dispose of you, then I wouldn't really care whether or not you knew we were in possession of Potter. Oh, don't give me that look of course you already knew it was obvious."

Severus blinked. Why would Lucius let that slip? Oh God, he feared he was about to die. The head of Slytherin house moved to draw his wand, but was again interrupted by Lucius. He swayed to the side slightly, leading Severus to realize the elder had likely been drinking before attending this meeting.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have slipped Bloodroot Poison in your tea. It wouldn't have been hard to do, you always take Chai. Really, your predictability will be the death of you, not me."

The potions master stopped to examine his cup, and set it back down. Was any of this actually happening? Perhaps he was dreaming, or perhaps he was in the middle of a master legimency attack, and this was all in his head. But no, Severus was sure he would have noticed that. He sighed, and accepted that this conversation was indeed a part of reality.

"Lucius, why are you telling me any of this? If you're not going to kill me then wipe my memories clear and be done with it."

Lucius laughed again. "That's not going to happen either. Severus, _please_, if you believe anyone trusts your brand of 'loyalty' here, you'll be thoroughly disappointed. I'm having this discussion with you because honestly, I don't care. It should be no surprise to you that I have perhaps as little love for our Lord as you, the only difference is _I _never cozied up to the enemy. So, here's how this is going to work out. We're going to sit here, drink our tea, and pretend everything is the same. You will never discuss this conversation with anyone, and I will never tell our _Lord_ that you have told the Order we have Potter. Understood?"

There was no answer. 'Yes' was the only true option, so there was no need to reply. Severus nodded, and took a deep breath. A cold dread ran over him as the quiet overcame the space. Lucius had plans for sure, but he had no way of knowing them, nor and space to question what they may be. Once again, he found himself caught between a hard place and an ultimatum. It was uncomfortable, but a position the potions master had become all too familiar with.

Lucius turned to look out the window, as if having forgotten everything the two had just discussed. Severus was startled when he spoke again.

"Now, have you any idea where I can find a new house elf…"

**~X~**

**Just in case anyone is interested, I went through my old chapters and (finally) fixed all my typos and major errors. I'm not promising they're perfect, but they're better. For all new readers, you're welcome.**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


	9. Chapter 9

**So, I was very bummed out because I thought no one had anything to say about my last chapter...then I checked my spam folder. Holy shit, there were 72 messages in there! I love you guys! So, I'm going to continue with long chapters, because I like them more. Also, I'm afraid that you guys might be getting bored waiting for anything even remotely slashy to happen, but I promise to work on that. Anywho, please enjoy~3**

**I encourage any and all fans of this story to search for the HarryMort page on facebook, and join the group. Vee (our Dark Lord), is a wonderful and welcoming person, and you will all be happier for being members. I promise you this.**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_And for a while things were cold, They were scared down in their holes.  
>The forest that once was green Was colored black by those killing machines<em>

**~X~**

The view outside the wood-framed glass was lovely, once if you actually stopped to look through it. The mountains outside the ancient castle seemed to stretch forever; most encased in forest, but a few capped with snow. Creatures far too large to be birds darted among their peaks. Harry assumed they were too small to be dragons, but he had no idea what they were. None of them came close enough to his room to see clearly. The green-eyed boy took a deep breath, and peeled his gaze from the window of his room within Slytherin Castle. He was exhausted, but for now his attention was devoted to the blank parchment and unfamiliar ink and quill set before him. Harry had no idea why wizards didn't just switch to ballpoint pens, but he had to admit the feather and pot had a certain charm to them. The boy smiled, pushed up his glasses, wiped the excess ink off his quill, and began to write.

_Nikolai, Alex, and whoever else might be wondering,_

_Hey guys. I shouldn't have bolted like that, and I'm sorry. I truly am. But I want you to know that I am perfectly safe. There's no need to cause a big panic, assuming you have, which I hope you haven't. It's just, last week I thought I saw someone I knew, and from there things got... complicated. I'm going to be gone for a while, I have a lot to sort out. Personal stuff. Like, stuff from before I ran away, I suppose. Anyways, I'll write to you again as soon as I'm done, and if I can, periodically when I have time. I'm sorry, and I know it's really shitty of me to bail on you right when things were going so well. I hope to see you again soon, but I don't think I'll be able to explain what's happening. Not now, not ever. I'm truly sorry._

_Take care Mates._

_Harry _

Harry frowned slightly. Was his handwriting really that bad? Apparently, yes. He laughed it off, and read over his letter once more. It was hard to believe he had already been living in Slytherin Castle for a week, with the occasional trip to the Malfoy estate, and what an incredible week it had been. The boy set down his quill in exchange for his wand, and cast a heating charm to make the ink dry faster. It was an incredibly basic charm, but it had taken him two bloody days of practice before it stopped burning whatever it affected.

Every day for the last week had been scheduled practically to the minute. They had to be, according to Voldemort, in order to fit everything he needed to learn. History, charms, transfigurations, potions, he really wanted to learn to fly a broom, but that was an exceptionally low priority apparently. Although, Harry was under the impression that the Dark Lord didn't know how to ride one himself. The thought amused him, and he figured he would get around to teaching himself eventually. There were a few short pauses for meals throughout the days, but by every evening he found himself both physically and mentally exhausted, with what never felt like enough time to rest before it began again. Today had been the first break Harry had since his trip to Diagon Alley, and that was only because Voldemort was working with his inner circle until the late afternoon.

His first day of studies hadn't been that bad. He and the Dark Lord had gone over some basic spellwork, but had spent most of their time working on apparition. Harry assumed it was for conveniences sake, in case he needed to meet Voldemort elsewhere. Like he would today, when he moved over to Malfoy Manor later that afternoon. The teen half laughed, half groaned at the memory of learning apparition. Harry figured that he had apparated before as a child, once from school and once from Privet Drive, so he knew what to focus on. Yet in spite of that, it had taken him close to nine hours of practice to get it right, and he hadn't been allowed to leave the room until he did. Harry had lost an eyebrow more than once that day, but was fortunate that Voldemort could somehow reattach it. Magic was strange like that. Initially, the man had seemed a bit impatient, and probably a bit annoyed with how clueless Harry was, but he was still carrying out what he had promised. Even though the Dark Lord had an ulterior motive, training him to hopefully join his ridiculous army, the man with the crimson eyes hadn't given up on him. Harry couldn't say that about many people.

Despite the nonstop, relentless nature of his new education, he couldn't get enough of it. Considering he had run away from home when he was seven, and never bothered going back to school, this was the closest to a proper education Harry ever had. Sure, he had gone to the library a lot, but only bothered to read what he thought was actually useful. Now, he had one of the most brilliant wizards to ever live personally tutoring him. And while he was sure that self-proclaimed greatest wizard alive still knew more than he was letting on, Harry found himself not caring. He knew there had to be more to the link between their minds than either of them realized, and Voldemort had to have a theory as to what it was. He was also sure the someone had to know what was wrong with the boy from Malfoy Manor. But, these questions would have to come another time. Harry promised himself he wouldn't forget them though.

Despite the lack of answers he got from the Dark Lord, the man was still brilliant, and an exceptional teacher. Like just yesterday, when Voldemort was trying to explain the Goblin Wars by comparing them to the invasion of Normandy, and Harry had no idea what he was talking about, instead of explaining the Muggle history Voldemort had created an illusion that they were standing _in_, the battlefield, watching it happen! Harry found that it was much easier to remember the names and monikers for war heroes when one could see their bloody faces, especially when they had an illusionary weapon pointed at you.

As exciting as history was, it had nothing on charms and defensive spells. The green eyed boy had only mastered a few basic spells, but couldn't wait to begin dueling practice. Disarming opponents had come surprisingly naturally to him, so he couldn't be that bad. Levitation was another story altogether, he was abysmal at that. Voldemort was going to help him with it later, but Harry considered that he should probably practice more on his own first. That would be more exciting, getting to be the one to show off for once. Though his studies were far from being a competition, Harry knew that if they were Riddle would have him completely outclassed. The teen smiled to himself. Riddle was a good name for him, given what a puzzle the man was. Harry had asked a few days ago why he hated his "muggle" name so much, but never got an actual answer. Just a grumble, and what he thought was some muttering about his father before the Dark Lord excused himself. Harry hadn't asked again since.

Still, the man was absolutely meticulous in everything he did, and somehow was able to explain his every act clearly. When learning new spells, Harry wasn't just learning incantations and wand movements, Voldemort was explaining exactly how his magic should feel as it passed through his veins. The Dark Lord's focus seemed to be less on memorization, and more on learning to harness raw power. Harry was sure it would prove to be more useful in the end. Voldemort had described his approach to magic quite simply; 'why learn to recite a complex and unnecessary list of spells, when one can simply bend the world about them at will?' He wondered if this was how other witches and wizards learned. It probably was, with the exception that they were probably taught by their parents. Harry shrugged the thought off, it was pretty irrelevant.

The teen stood up and stretched dramatically before turning to fold his letter to his former flatmates. The skies outside were exceptionally clear, perfect weather to send an owl in. Yes, a quick stop by the owlery, and he would be back to master that levitation charm.

He just needed to remember, it was _Levioooosa_, not _Leviosaaa._

**~X~**

Three weeks. It would be three weeks before she could leave this dreadful place. The girl with the bushy hair was somewhat ashamed of herself for the thought. In truth, the Burrow was a lovely place. It was warm and inviting, and the Weasley's were nothing short of a second family to her. Yet she couldn't stop herself from hating every second here, and only Ron knew it. Neville was supposed to be here, chasing Trevor about the house in a panic, while Ron continued to lead him further along with a trail of insects, and she waited for the toad to stop for long enough to stun. Then they would laugh, and head to Diagon Alley to visit Florean Fortescue's and begin their school shopping. Ron would always complain that he didn't need another potions book, seeing as he was probably going to ditch the class anyways, Neville would spend far too much time in the apothecary and greenhouse, and she would purchase more supplemental books than anyone could ever read, then finish them in a week. Now their trio was only two, and she couldn't bring herself to move on.

Time and time again, Hermione had been hailed as "the brightest witch of her age". What a joke, she laughed to herself. She couldn't help her boyfriend when he was dying, she hadn't even known it was happening. Boyfriend, it was such a ridiculous word, so juvenile and immature. Still, she couldn't think of a more perfect one. Hermione had never thought of Neville as more than a friend, the idea that he liked her had never even crossed her mind. Then, he asked her to the Yule Ball. Ron had apparently known about his plan for some time, and encouraged the budding herbologist to ask her, but she had thought his advance as being nothing more than a friend asking a friend. That was the "brightest witch of their age's" first mistake; saying yes.

Did she think a relationship with Neville Longbottom, her dear friend but an awkward klutz, would go anywhere? No, of course not. But he was perfect. The friend she had known for years turned out to be more thoughtful, kind, and sincere than she had realized. He still hid whenever he saw Professor Snape outside of Potions, and constantly fainted at the sight of the new creatures they would be studying in Care for Magical Creatures, but he was brave in his own way. When his friends were on the line, he would do anything. In the five months they had been together, Neville had lost Gryffindor many points and earned countless detentions, because he was up after hours waiting for Hermione to leave her late classes. When she was studying for her exams, he would stay and help her even though he needed to spend his time preparing for the tournament challenges. Hermione swore that if it wasn't for Cedric, he never would have solved the egg riddle. And even when the entire school was mocking him for having his name drawn, he never showed how much it bothered him, at least not publicly. He was strong, far stronger than anyone gave him credit for. It hadn't taken much for her to fall for him.

And then he died.

Neville Longbottom was dead, Ronald Weasley the most underused member of the Order of the Phoenix, and she could help. Only Dumbledore wouldn't allow it, it was preposterous! She knew she could help them with at least something if they would give her the chance, but no. She would have to make that chance herself. And that was how one Hermione Granger found herself standing along the second floor stair rail of the burrow, eavesdropping on the Order of the Phoenix with the help of a stolen extendable ear. Fred and George really did need to do a better job hiding their products. It had only taken her two minutes to shatter the protective wards around their bedroom, and another five to pick the lock of their storage cases.

It was Snape's turn to discuss matters. She would have been able to distinguish his monotone even without the help of her stolen ear. He was informing the order that his position as a spy may have been compromised, but he didn't think they needed to worry. Fat chance they didn't. Ron would never agree with her, but Severus Snape was the one asset they had. Without him, You-Know-Who would have already taken over Wizarding Britain and the whole bloody continent with it. If his position was compromised, they all had reason to fear. Wait, Snape had just said something about Lucius Malfoy being a potential asset, that was an interesting development. But the Slytherin head of house wouldn't explain what led him to believe so. Instead, everyone just nodded and agreed. Hermione groaned, that wasn't good enough for her. Whatever happened to the days when Professor McGonagall challenged him, when Remus Lupin would demand more evidence, when Cedric Diggory still searched for proof that he could trust Snape? The Transfigurations instructor had lost her edge, the werewolf was in self-inflicted confinement on account of the lunar cycle, and the Champion of Hufflepuff's mind always seemed to be elsewhere. At least she knew Ron wasn't blindly listening, but he had likely left the meeting. Ronald couldn't stand listening to Severus speak. That was likely him now, walking up the stairs.

The bushy haired girl removed the extendable ear from her real ear for a moment, and turned to face the bottom of the stairwell. Just as she had expected, her favorite redhead was on his way up. Ron was the only person who came close to understanding what she was going through, and may have understood even better than she did; he had been in the same boat for the last two years, and his situation had only gotten worse since the murder of his father. Ron's attention was currently on the fake ear wiggling before him. The Weasley couldn't help but chuckle.

"Hear anything you like yet? Honestly it all just makes me want to vomit."

Hermione forced a smile. It wasn't quite so hard around him. "I suppose I'm with you here, though I wouldn't go quite that far. It is surprising that Professor Snape would give his position away, but I still haven't found anything useful."

Ron sighed as he finished ascending the stairs. "Damn, and here I thought we could catch something they didn't." Hermione shook her head slightly. Proving they were useful would never be that easy.

"Ron, we're never going to find where he is based on Order information alone. We're only looking for clues, places we know he isn't. This is going to take us some time, I promise you that." The girl sighed, and took a deep breath. "I think we should start by breaking into the restricted section again. Oh don't give me that look of course I remember how much trouble that got us in last time! But think about it, we're looking for someplace You-Know-Who would feel...for lack of a better word, safe, leaving him."

Ron's face was both shocked and horrified, but it shifted to a calculated confusion after a moment.

"I suppose you're right there. So, you reckon we should look into his old school records or something? Bloody hell 'Mione, we don't even know the bastard's real name-"

"Tom Riddle"

"Ok, we do know the bastard's real name, but I doubt he ever wrote an essay called 'when I become a psychotic megalomaniac I will keep the people I want to kill here'. Would be nice though, for something to be easy for once. Also, I don't believe that bollocks Snape said about him not killing Potter for a second. Why the bloody hell wouldn't he?"

"I don't know..." Hermione replied. A dull silence fell over the two. Downstairs they could hear the Order of the Phoenix disbanding, apparent by the muffled sounds of chairs scuffing the old floors and many voices reciting their farewells. The extendable ear was soon recoiled to a normal size, to be dropped in the young witch's pocket and forgotten.

It was Ron who broke the silence.

"Ever wonder what it would be like if he didn't go missing?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "No, not really, actually. I can imagine things would have been much more chaotic, with a celebrity at Hogwarts and all."

"Yeah, but who knows? Maybe we would have been friends...that would be pretty cool, you have to admit."

Hermione smiled, and laughed slightly. "Yeah, you and every other student. But you're right, it would be cool...do you think Neville would have thought so too?"

"Yeah, 'course he would! We would have been the golden quartet, or some other bollocks name, and we would get in trouble all the time, but it would have been the best time of our lives." Ron placed an arm over Hermione's shoulder reassuringly. She truly was happy to have him here. Though the second youngest Weasley could be a complete dolt, he somehow had a way of making the worst of times a little brighter. She could laugh around him, really laugh. Perhaps if she weren't so stupidly hung up over the boy-she-never-expected, they would be together. Ron liked to act like he was so subtle, like she had no idea how he felt. But she knew, girls always knew."Now come on, we're all stressed. You're right that there's nothing we can do while we're here, as annoying as it is, so let's head out before Ginny comes downstairs. You never know, she might think we're up to something."

"What, us? No, we're perfect little angels." Hermione joked.

"If that's the case, I'm sure you won't mind if I ask what you two are doing?". A third voiced joined the conversation. Hermione jumped a bit from the surprise, while Ron simply snapped his gaze in the direction of the new sound. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning over the rail towards them, stood Cedric Diggory. And given how relaxed he seemed, he had likely been there since the Order had disembarked for the day. Ron was the one to try and talk his way out, despite being a horrible liar.

"Oh, er, nothing, nothing at all. 'Mione and I were just about to go, that's it. Yeah, we weren't-"

"Discussing Order business with someone who hasn't been initiated? Yeah, we all know you were, it's not a big deal. Really. Hermione, we know that Ron's told you about all our plans, who we officially know are Death Eaters, the prophecy, yada yada and so on." Cedric smiled. "But let's be honest, we all know you're planning something big. The thing is, none of them believe you have the resources to pull anything off."

It was Hermione's turn to speak. "And what exactly do you believe?" Her tone was colder than she expected, but she wasn't in the mood to be mocked. She was surprised when Cedric returned her tone with a genuine, sincere understanding.

"Me? I think that you two have just as much to fight for as anyone in that room. But you're so young, no one wants to see you die for a cause before you've actually lived." The Hufflepuff paused for a moment, looked at the ground, then turned his attention back to the duo. "I know I never got to know him like you two did, but he was a good kid. A great kid even, and he wouldn't want to see his best friends get hurt. Not even in the name of justice."

Cedric took a step back from the railing, and towards the main door. "I just want you to know that I understand. And if you need anything, I'll be more than happy to help. Completely off the record too, kay?"

Hermione was a bit shocked, and given the look on Ron's face, he was too. "You would? But, why now?" The redhead asked.

"Simple really." Cedric nodded. "Up until now, we didn't have anything worth fighting for. As of yesterday, everything's changed. We've finally got something worth fighting for beyond stopping a few raids here and there. We have _hope_."

Hermione nodded. She hadn't thought of their situation like that before. A sudden mixture of pride and anxiety filled the head of the young witch as she reconsidered the implications of Harry Potter being alive. He was absolutely right, everything had changed.

They actually stood a chance now.

**~X~**

If any one of the Dark Lord's followers thought there was a chance they weren't going to fear for their lives today, they were very much mistaken. He had given them such simple tasks, yet he was met with such failure. Yaxley had been assigned to meet with the Northern Werewolf Colonies to renew their treaties, Nott to bribe select ministry officials to nominate a recently imperiused Pius Thicknesse as the next Minister Elect, and Rowle and Lestrange had been ordered to find the hiding place of the Order of the Phoenix. Instead, the Werewolves, Greybacks in particular, had been convinced that they were better off building their own society, and were breaking off from them, Nott had only secured the votes of half the men he had needed, and Rufus Scrimgeour had been nominated instead, and the Dark Lord had yet to year a word from Rodolphus or his partner. At least he would have the pleasure of murdering the wolves later.

Nagini continued to coil about the Dark Lord's seat. His study was dimly lit, but what little light there was reflected the blue and green undertones to her magnificent black scales. Despite the room being illuminated by naught but a few candles, to Lord Voldemort it may have been the peak of daylight. The embers that served as his eyes could detect the finest of detail even in the darkest of night. For now, that detail he was examining was a map of Europe. They had eliminated so many possibilities thus far, but where no closer to finding it. In this case, "it" happened to be the location of the Order of the Phoenix's meetings. The remnants of his search for the Elder Wand were still strewn about his desk, but the Dark Lord had abandoned that search. He had found something much better. A horcrux that, even if his opponents were to discover, they could never bring themselves to destroy.

The Dark Lord leaned back, and placed a skeletal hand to his forehead. Now that Lord Voldemort knew of the existence of his accidental horcrux, he was constantly aware of the presence of Potter's mind within his own. How he had not noticed it before truly was a mystery, but it had been a part of his new body since it had come to be. In the chaos of creation, the Dark Lord assumed that miniscule details could easily go unnoticed. The thought was still of little comfort. If Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard to walk the Earth, could miss something as significant as a portion of his soul, what else might he not have noticed?

The Dark Lord sighed, and lowered the hand from his serpentine visage to stroke Nagini. These were thoughts to dwell upon later. For now, he needed to rest. The last week had been quite taxing upon the Heir of Slytherin, and clearly he was not the only one exhausted. The boy who was the cause of his stress had intended to practice some basic spellwork, but Voldemort could feel that he had fallen asleep instead. It was of little consequence to him, he needed a break from babysitting anyways.

Perhaps if Harry Potter were truly his enemy, he would have found the boy to be mind-numbingly frustrating. There were several times when he did regardless, but lulling Potter into a false sense of safety had come far more easily than the Dark Lord had anticipated. It was painfully true that his horcrux could barely perform spells at a first year level, but the boy was fortunate to have an instructor with an understanding as to how his magic worked. Had Potter gone to Hogwarts, Voldemort was sure he would have been even further behind. While that would suit an enemy very nicely, he needed the boy to be able to protect himself, or more importantly, the Dark Lord's immortality.

Nagini retracted from his hand, and coiled herself into Lord Voldemort's lap. The Dark Lord continued to stroke the one creature who understood his mind.

_"Maaaaster, something is troubling you."_ The great serpent hissed. There was no point in saying otherwise, Nagini shared a link with the Dark Lord's mind that had been utilized for some time. He stroked under her chin reassuringly.

_"Troubling me, no, but I do have many things to reexamine as of late. A great many things."_

_"If any of them are man, you know I can take care of themmm."_ She spoke almost too excitedly. Lord Voldemort chucked softly.

_"Nagini, eating people does not make the problem go away."_

_"You only say that because you haven't tried it."_

The Dark Lord sighed, and let her have the last word. She may have known the inside of his mind almost as well as it's owner, but she was quite useless when it came to providing any useful advice. Voldemort turned his head towards the single candle on his desk, and snuffed it out between his middle finger and thumb. The Dark Lord would be leaving to meet with his followers at the Malfoy estate soon anyways. It was so kind of the Malfoy's to allow him the use of their family home, especially since he had taken that right and never cared what they thought of it. Nor did he have any intention to ask. This meeting would consist of his inner circle, and those who had recently failed him. He could not promise that everyone would leave with their sanity, that was for certain.

Voldemort took a moment to check the connection between his and Potter's minds. He had made a habit of checking upon the boy periodically, scanning the outermost surfaces of his mind to endure Potter's safety and stability. It had appeared that Potter had yet to realize that he was capable of accessing the link between their minds willingly. Sad, truly, that the boy could learn less about this connection in years than Voldemort had in mere days. The boy was still asleep, and apparently, snored. Lovely. However, that was one of the few things he had found to complain about the boy with the famous scar upstairs. Oh, he was stubborn, and not terribly good at taking direction from others, but the boy was incredibly resourceful, and had a certain disregard for rules that the Dark Lord couldn't help but admire. After all, Voldemort had spent his entire life building a new world around his own rules.

However, Potter's attitude was one of a person who would relentlessly seek answers until he was satisfied there was nothing more he could find. While the boy lived with muggles, he was completely harmless. Potter of course knew that he was different, but had no where to turn to seek answers as to why. Then the Dark Lord had sent Lucius out,opened the door to magic, and with it a neverending void of questions. There was only so long he could stave them off before the boy would to looking for answers on his own, he was sure of it. Voldemort gently pushed Nagini from his lap, and stood with yet another sigh. These were problems he would have to address as they arose. Some days, taking over the world seemed like more work than it was actually worth.

The Dark Lord turned towards the grandfather clock between the bookshelves. To anyone else, the numerals would be invisible, but to him it was apparent that his followers would already be waiting for his arrival. That was how he preferred it. Lord Voldemort waited on no one, after all.

The Heir of Slytherin slipped his wand into his robe, and apparated to the Malfoy estate, leaving nothing but a gently rippling cloud of black smoke. As he stepped out of the air in which he had only just appeared, his robes billowed out behind him. It was the sort of entrance worthy of a Lord, and this Lord was not ashamed to admit he had a fondness for the theatric. The heads of each of his marked soldiers turned to face the sudden disturbance in the room, before dropping out of respect. Most remained standing, but Bellatrix chose to drop to her knees. In truth, her groveling was quite irritating, but she was his most loyal follower, and loyalty did have its val. Nonetheless, the Dark Lord passed by her and the others as if they were insects. He reached the head of the table, and turned to his group of followers.

"What are you all waiting for?" He began. "Please, be seated."

Each and every one of them scurried to their chairs like well trained monkeys. What they lacked in confidence, they more than made up for in obedience. All eyes rest upon him, waiting for whatever their Master had to say next.

"Now, we do have much to discuss, particularly regarding more...recent activities I have assigned you. Yaxley, perhaps we can begin with your failure to secure our ties with the Werewolf colonies?"

The once smug features of Yaxley suddenly became an expression of dread. He looked his Lord in the eye, then towards the hem of his robes, then off to the side, completely unsure of what he should convey to save his skin. That only served to irritate Lord Voldemort further. There was very little he could say he despised more than a man who cared more about saving face that owning their mistakes. Self preservation was one thing, Yaxley's display was another entirely.

"My Lord, I am sorry, I tried-" he began, his gaze still quivering about the room. "Only, the Werewolves simply weren't interested. They care little for servitude, think themselves better off without you- you wouldn't want them anyways, with an attitude like that, and-"

"Do not presume to tell me what I do and do not want, Yaxley." Voldemort interrupted. Gently, the Dark Lord slipped his wand from his sleeve, and pointed the end towards the hysterical Death Eater.

"Crucio."

Yaxley was crying out before he hit the floor. Many people assumed the Dark Lord enjoyed watching those he cursed suffer, and that was sometimes the case, but this time the act left him disgusted. Not with himself, of course, but with his victim. Here Yaxley lay, convulsing on the ground, shrieking in agony after a mere few seconds. It was weakness, and Lord Voldemort had little time or patience for the weak. He revelled in the fear of those around him, and their screams were welcome, but he expected his victims to at least put up a good fight. They never did. Yaxley was now beginning to foam at the mouth, the remainder of the room was silent. How much longer would it be before Yaxley was begging for forgiveness? He couldn't imagine it would be more that a few seconds now. The Dark Lord felt a ripple through his mind. Before he could think as to what caused it, the all too familiar _crack_ of an apparition echoed throughout the halls of Malfoy Manor. Voldemort, along with most of the room, turned towards the source of the noise, just outside the doors to this meeting hall. A few seem panicked, as if they feared an attack. More weakness was all he saw. At least Bellatrix had the good sense to brandish her wand. The doors burst open, and this time it was the Dark Lord's turn to be surprised.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?!"

A very irate, sloppy haired teenager, whose glasses had clearly just been shoved on, was storming his way towards Lord Voldemort. Clearly, Potter had gotten the hang of apparition very nicely, but this intrusion was most unwelcome. Especially considering present company.

"He failed, and a lesson must be taught, it's truly that simple."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I saw the whole bloody thing, werewolf colonies, failure to attain treaties, blah blah blah- he didn't screw up _that_ badly! Now, can you let him go, it's kind of hard to talk over the screaming!"

Voldemort was taken aback for a moment, though it didn't show. This boy had the nerve to shout at him, before his own followers? This was a delicate situation indeed. Appear weak before his men, or risk pushing away his horcrux. He sighed, and released the cruciatus curse from Yaxley. His Death Eaters would never dare speak of this, and his immortality was far more important than them. Yaxley lay on his back, breathing rapidly and harshly. One of the masked one's whose names the Dark Lord hadn't bothered to remember stepped forward to help. Lord Voldemort payed him no heed, his focus not deviating from Potter.

"Very well, how would you manage this situation?"

"Honestly? I would let the bloody wolves leave."

The Dark Lord blinked, then scoffed. "And why would you do that?"

"Because obviously, if you force them to stay, they'll just find a way to rebel. Let them start their own society, and form a better alliance with them. For fuck's sake, that way nothing's really changed, but at least they think it has! I hate to break it to you, _my Lord_, but maybe this is why so many people don't like you. You should probably work on your listening skills."

"My Lord, _what is the meaning of this?!_ Who is that?!" Bellatrix shrieked behind him. Her eyes were wide with madness, her wand aimed for Potter's chest. "How _dare_ you speak that way to the Dark Lord!"

Voldemort was surprised when Harry didn't flinch. The boy was stupidly fearless, and that would likely be the death of him. Voldemort lowered the former Black's arm.

"Now is not the time, Bellatrix. This is a matter that does not concern you." He gave her a venomous glare, to make his point clear. If she raised a wand to his soul again, then her punishment would make Yaxley's look like a swim in a butterbeer brewery. Lord Voldemort turned to the rest of his gathering.

"It would appear, that this meeting has been cut short. Leave us." The room emptied within seconds, though Miss Lestrange has seemed quite intent upon staying. He would have none of that. Once their space was cleared, Voldemort turned to face Potter. The Dark Lord was furious, but there was very little he could do about it. Had anyone else spoken to him that way, they would have been tortured within an inch of their lives, and perhaps executed as well for good measure. His hand twitched slightly, an instinct, but Voldemort knew he couldn't curse Potter. Furthermore, no matter how badly he may have wished to, he wouldn't. The Dark Lord was about to speak, when The-Boy-Who-Lived interrupted him again.

"So, Bellatrix, the crazy one with the big hair? You know your snake thinks she's a blubbering idiot, right? Her answer to everything is cackle and attack it, and Nagini thinks she's a bad influence of the others. I would fire her, but I don't think the general population would be safe around her."

Lord Voldemort blinked. This boy had just stormed in on a Death Eater meeting, with several attendees who were not supposed to know he was alive, berated the Dark Lord before his followers, and now wished to make small-talk about how Nagini viewed an Azkaban escapee as being incompetent? The entire situation was preposterous! He wanted to lash out and curse the boy, but the boy was a part of himself. The Dark Lord didn't know what to do. He laughed.

To anyone outside the room, it would have sounded as though there was a madman wandering about the Malfoy Estate. And perhaps there was, Voldemort thought. His head was tilted back in an almost hysterical cackle. There was so much to concern himself with, and the part Potter found important was that even _Nagini_ thought Bellatrix was completely inept, and that his mortal enemy was telling him to _work on his listening skills._

Potter stared ahead awkwardly at the spectacle that was the greatest wizard to ever live in a delirious state. He circled partially around the Dark Lord, as if looking for an explanation for this outburst.

"Er, I don't get it. What's so funny? And can you stop laughing? I came here to have a serious discussion!"

Harry attempted to retain a serious face, but before long he began to laugh nervously. And that was how the two remained for several moments, laughing over a thinly veiled, tense awkwardness. Finally, the Dark Lord managed to stop. He had no idea what had come over him, but it was clear that he was quite oblivious as to how to handle a situation when instilling fear wasn't an option. Once, when he had been Tom Riddle, he had commanded respect from those around him. He deserved it after the mockery they made of him, all due to his pathetic mother and her inability to live and tell the your orphan of his legacy herself. He had demanded their respect, and fear simply followed. But it would seem that as the years passed, he found fear easier to come by. Voldemort took a deep breath, now that he was back to his wits, and motioned for Harry to sit. The boy obliged as the Dark Lord circled around him.

"Ah, Harry, you do realize why I'm upset, don't you?"

"Because I interrupted you while you were torturing that guy?" Harry replied snarkily. Voldemort placed a hand on the back of the boy's chair.

"That is part of this, you are correct. But mostly, I am upset because you interrupted while I was making a point. You are correct, I could easily design a new plan to correct the failures of the masses, but I would prefer not to. The point needed to be made that I would not accept his failure again. And you should know, Harry, that your interruption only made things worse for him. I was about to release the spell when you stormed in, but Yaxley had to wait while I handled you."

The boy fell silent for a moment. Potter's personality was exceptionally simple, the Dark Lord had already realized. He cared too much for those around him. Once he felt responsible for another's misfortune, he would immediately back down, or so Voldemort hoped. Clearly, he was wrong.

"I've seen you do that to plenty of people without a good reason."

"And did you know the circumstances then?"

"Well, no but-"

"But what? Harry, there is much you do not understand about this world. Until you do, it's not your place to step into these affairs."

The Dark Lord turned his head down towards the boy. He was frustrating, stubborn, relentless, and idiotically tenacious. Excellent traits for a horcrux, but poor ones for a mind that needed to be shaped. From this angle though, it was hard not to see that the boy was beautiful, though also a thorn in his side.

"You're right, I don't know anything about the magical world. But I know about people, and I stand by what I said earlier. If you force people to stay with you out of fear, they'll turn on you eventually."

Voldemort scoffed. "Are you suggesting that I let them continue to fail me?"

"I'm suggesting that you give them a chance. Maybe they wouldn't be so nervous whenever they saw you if the consequences weren't, you know, so harsh?"

The Dark Lord was taken aback. He was not a child to be lectured, like Dumbledore seemed to believe, nor was he so ignorant as to think that lightening the fear in his army's hearts would make them more obedient. It would only give them room to betray him, and he would not be betrayed. But perhaps, if he pretended to agree with the boy, that would appease him. And he needed Potter to stop meddling. The Dark Lord took possession of the seat adjacent to Potter. The boy sighed before continuing.

"Look, I've seen inside your head, and I know to you, the world sucks. It really does, and people can be asses. It really doesn't look like anyone's given you a reason to believe otherwise. But, that doesn't mean everyone is like that. There's got to be _someone_ out there who you can rely on. Isn't there?"

Voldemort smirked, amused by his companion's question. He took a deep breath. "Ah, to be so young and naive. Yes Harry, please tell me more about relying on others. Who do we start with? Your Muggle family who disregarded you? All the lovely people you met on the streets as a child? Perhaps your flatmates who know none of your secrets?"

The Dark Lord paused, and leaned back slightly. "You and I are truly no different, you see. You only trust people with as much as they can handle before you know they'll leave. I was once the same, but then I realized. In time, everyone abandons you of their own accord or not. So, it's better to _not trust anyone_. They will _all_ betray you in the end."

His attention was entirely on Harry, as the boy looked down, digesting the words of the man he should have trusted least of all. After a moment, he looked up, staring the most feared wizard to walk the Earth in the eye.

"What happened to make you hate the world so much?"

Voldemort had nothing to say this time. _Everything_ ran through his mind, but he felt no need to speak. Somehow, he believed that Potter got the message. His horcrux truly did have stunning eyes, the same shade at the spell that should have ended him 17 years ago. The last time he had truly paid those eyes any attention, they were on the face of another, begging him to kill her and not her child. He has wondered at the time what Severus saw in the mudblood, but if she was even remotely as determined as her son, it began to make sense. His gaze shifted up towards Harry's forehead, and another famous feature of the boy's he had paid little attention to. The Dark Lord reached a hand out, brushing the messy bangs of the Boy-Who-Lived away from his proof the night had happened; a thin scar along his forehead. It truly did look like a lightning bolt, he thought.

"That? Oh, I got that the night my parents died. It was- er, a car crash I think." Potter responded, obviously confused by the action.

"Is that so..." The Dark Lord drawled. It was amazing, Voldemort thought, how the tiniest of details could change an entire story. He could feel the pulse of his own magic within Harry's skin, practically calling him. Were it not for this, seemingly insignifigant scar, Harry Potter would have been a corpse at his feet. Now...

"I would imagine that we are both tired. It has been a long week, after all. We will resume your lessons tomorrow. For now, return to Albania and rest. Understood?" Voldemort half ordered, half asked. Harry nodded, in a somewhat confused manner. He stood up and stepped to a clear area in the room. Good, the boy did have a habit of breaking things upon his departure.

"Hey." The boy called, gaining Voldemort's attention before leaving.

"I'll find someone out there you can trust. I promise."

With that, the Boy-Who-Lived to be far more naive than Voldemort could have imagined disappeared. He didn't know whether to laugh for his ignorance, or cringe for his immortality. Perhaps both would be appropriate. Still, car crash...

It was at least one more lie the Dark Lord wouldn't have to come up with.

**~X~**

**Oh my god, I CAN'T believe how long Voldemort's POV turned out! That was SO HARD to write! T_T! But I really hope you like it!**

**Oh, and a note to ijskonijntje, who missed what happened to Draco (no worries, I was on hiatus for ages, I forgot some details and had to reread too XD). Draco was assigned with killing Dumbledore, but couldn't bring himself to do it. So, as punishment he was used as part of an experiment regarding finding a wizard without a trace. It should have been a simple procedure, but Voldemort decided to torture him for kicks, and somehow managed to strip him of his magic. Naturally, he's still pretty traumatized from the whole thing. Hope that clears it up =).**

**And to all of you whose reviews I don't reply to, it's not because I don't love you. It's usually because I don't have time, but I adore you all, I promise 3**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


	10. Chapter 10 - AUTHORS NOTE

~AUTHORS NOTE ~ SO SORRY ~ AUTHORS NOTE~

Hey everyone. So, I have seen you out there continuing to follow and favorite this story, and I wish to thank each and every one of you. I know I haven't updated in ages, life threw a bit of a shit storm at me, it's been a mess. I've been working on the next chapter, though slower than I care to admit. Still, I do have about 9 pages done...

Anyways, I want to continue this story so badly. I have so many great things planned for it's future, it's going to be beautiful. But, I don't know how to tie all these events together, at least no more than a rough plan. So in short, I need help. I've spent months trying to convince my sister to help me, to no avail (she's the reason for the existence of the "tl;dr" acronym).

Basically, what I'm getting at is that I am in desperate need of a co-writer. Someone who cares about this story as much as I do, who I can talk to about it's development, someone who I can ask questions about the writing to, and get answers from the perspective of someone who doesn't know everything that's coming next! If you think you could help me, please let me know. Send me a PM, or drop a line in a review. I'll be honest, I'm a little desperate. Please, I really need someone.

Thank you, and I hope to have more story for you soon.


	11. Chapter 10

**This story kind of reminds me of this plant I have in my room. I can go for months without watering it, and when I bother looking at it again not only is it still kicking, but it has a few new leaves.**

**Anyways, I've received some great advice from a few of you out there~ thank you (particularly ... and ...). However, I am still seeking someone to call a co-writer. So, I look forward to continuing to hear from you =). Thank you all for bearing with me~**

**~X~**

~~~~~~~~Pavement Diaries~~~~~~~~

**~X~**

_I don't want no future, I don't need no past_

_One bright moment, Is all I ask_

**~X~**

Once upon a time, he had been a man who had commanded respect before all, even the Dark Lord. Today, he would command that same respect once more. Many times had Lucius Malfoy had this conversation with himself, but never before had he meant it this much. Today, he would not break. He would not cower, or grovel, or beg.

Three days had passed since that disaster of a meeting, the one where Potter scolded the Dark Lord like a child, Yaxley nearly shit all over his robes, and more importantly Lucius's floor, and Bellatrix almost set his curtains on fire in the aftermath. Hopefully by now, the Dark Lord would have calmed enough for him to listen to the aristocrat. The head of the Malfoy estate adjusted his cravat once more in his entry mirror. When proposing a deal with a Dark Lord, especially one as risky as this, he figured he should at least look his best. Today he had chosen to don his finest dress robes; black layered on navy layered on black, his cravat adorned with a silver brooch depicting the Malfoy family crest. Lucius pursed his lips for a moment. He had considered wearing green instead of blue, to appeal to his Master's tastes, but had decided otherwise for fear of appearing to be trying too hard.

Lucius breathed nervously. Clearly, he had drunk more than he realized before his last bout of tea with Severus. The aristocrat hadn't intended on telling Severus anything that could be used against him. He didn't need the hook-nosed bastard knowing his loyalties lay with no one, that he knew Severus was reporting on everything they did to The Order. He most certainly didn't want the glorified apothecary thinking of him as a source of intelligence, a potential _ally_. The word alone felt like poison. No, this man worked for himself, and himself alone. His mission was one to carry out with as little attention as possible, and telling Severus of his animosity towards their serpentine leader was certainly a great deal of attention. Lucius knew he had no reason to fear his son's former head of house, but he was a cautious man, and his mistake had pushed him to act sooner than he had wished. Or maybe this was the push he needed.

The grandfather clock in the next room chimed it's first beat of the hour. Eight in the morning, it was his cue to leave. Being punctual would do him no real good, but arriving a minute or two late could end his scheme. The elder Malfoy straightened himself out once more anxiously, before disapparating to his destination; Slytherin Castle, Albania.

The sensation of apparition was one no wizard was truly comfortable with. They grew used to it, yes, reaching a point when the feeling didn't bother them, but the act nonetheless remained an unpleasant one. It was a feeling of weakness, your limbs pressing against your body, your lungs constricting in your chest as the world flew past you. Lucius enjoyed the convenience of apparition, but loathed the complete helplessness that served as it's companion. Fortunately, the moment passed, and the cold marble floors of his Lord's private estate appeared beneath his feet. He swallowed again, though this time to negate his urge to vomit. The meeting hall, the only room any of the Dark Lord's inner circle could come and go from, was empty. The aristocrat breathed a sigh of relief. He would not leave the Dark Lord waiting, and he would have a few moments to regain his composure. Facing the heir of Slytherin, the man who killed remorselessly, tortured Lucius's only son for hours, controlled every aspect of his life since he was a young man and Abraxas handed him over into their ranks, was nothing he couldn't manage. He had managed to appear civil, subservient even, for the past months. He could do it, but repetition didn't make the task any easier.

The door creaked open, allowing a sliver of light to streak across the black marble beneath his feet. Nagini could be heard slithering into the hall before her master. Whether the Dark Lord was allowing her to enter first for atmospheric effect, or she was simply faster than him was unclear, but Lucius stifled a shudder nonetheless. He had seen that serpent devour many a wizard whole, it was difficult not to be bothered by her presence. Then, almost silently, her Master padded into the chamber. The Dark Lord's steps were almost silent, the trailing of his robes leaving more of an echo than the man himself. Even barefoot, he possessed an impressive aura. Lucius finally turned to face him, and kneeled before the Heir of Slytherin, awaiting his permission to speak. It was disgusting, degrading he thought, but Lucius's face revealed nothing. In the darkness of the chamber, he appeared even paler than usual, a harsh streak of bone enveloped in shadows and chaos.

"Rise, Lucius."

The Dark Lord commanded. His voice was barely above a whisper, his words drawn out in a smooth, unassuming tone, but the Malfoy head was not calmed by this. He rose to his full height, still several inches below his Lord, and swallowed.

"My Lord, I wish to thank you for granting me this meeting. I am aware you have much more important things to attend to, and am honored that you would step away from them to hear me."

Lucius managed to keep his words even, his voice calm. Any traces of his worry existed only within his mind. His attempt to appease the Dark Lord's sense of greatness however, did not seem to go over well.

"You are right, I do have a great number of tasks to address, and it would be in your best interest to tell me what you want, so I can return to them."

"But of course my Lord," He rushed. "I actually wish to offer my services to you further. You do have a great number of responsibilities, and so many could be accomplished by none other than you. I would hope to assist you in some of your more trivial pursuits, those which could be tended by others."

As Lucius spoke, the Dark Lord circled the table, seemingly paying more attention to his thrice-damned snake than the head of one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain, but Lucius showed no signs of his annoyance. That would equate to nothing short of a death sentence. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the chilling voice of the Dark Lord.

"At this moment, I believe I would appreciate it more if you would get to the point."

"Of course my Lord. I do not wish to intrude where I am not wanted, but my audience with you is regarding Potter."

The Dark Lord finally turned to face Lucius, seeming intrigued. Lucius repressed a shudder, he could never tell if that face meant he was interested in the words of his followers, or if he was waiting for them to make a mistake. Either way, when his Lord chose to take a seat, Lucius took that as his cue to sit as well, and continue.

"I understand that you have chosen to keep him here, and there are rumours that you have taken his education upon yourself. This is a decision many do not understand, I myself know you must have some greater plan we simply cannot understand, but agree that raising him up as our ally is an excellent idea."

So far, so good. The Dark Lord had yet to seem offended by his forwardness. Lucius almost smirked. A hint of honestly paired with some flattery was all it took. Yes, none of his inner circle understood why he wanted the Potter brat alive, but none of them thought there to be a greater plan. Some hoped, but at best they were confused. Let the Dark Lord think they still believed in him though, then continue to plant seeds of distrust within his ranks. Everything was moving far more smoothly than anticipated, but his entire future still rested on the remainder of this meeting.

"But my Lord, your skills are of so much more use outside of the realm of academia."

It was Lord Voldemort's turn to smirk.

"Then pray tell, what would you have me do?"

His voice was calm, with a light tone as though he were toying with the aristocrat. But there was a hint of a threat nonetheless. Lucius would be lying to say he wasn't bothered by the Dark Lord's ability to conceal a death threat within a perfectly non-threatening statement. The Malfoy swallowed.

"I request that you allow me to assist you in his education."

After a tense pause, Lucius chose to view the Dark Lord's gaze as a cue to continue speaking.

"If you intend to train Potter as a Death Eater, and use his existence to destroy the Order, then there are a great many things that you alone can be responsible for. But you cannot always be here, especially when you have to keep fixing the mistakes of those around you. I understand you will be leaving in the next week to remedy the situation with the werewolf colonies, for instance. My Lord, I would never dare suggest myself as great as you, but I know myself to be a more than competent duelist and apothecare. Please, allow me to assist where I can, I only wish to make myself useful to your ranks once more."

"Why Lucius, you suggest that you are no longer of use to me." The Dark Lord finally answered with a smirk. Lucius hesitated, but not for fear this time. So far, his plan had gone far smoother than expected, but naturally an explanation for his sudden urge to participate was necessary. He already had the words planned, but it was crucial the Dark Lord think him nervous.

"My Lord, I am well aware that I am only mildly useful due to my political connections, many of which I can make no use of due to the general air of distrust surrounding the ministry as a whole. It's even pushed them as far as to nominate Scrimgeour as the next minister, no one likes him but they at least believe him to be honest. But, that is besides the point. My family has failed you, and I wish to regain our favor in your eyes. I understand this will be no easy task, but I intend to do what I can, and this seemed a simple enough task to me entrusted with."

He paused, hoping the Dark Lord would hear an entirely different message. Something more along the lines of _"I am afraid for my family"_. Loyalty, the Dark Lord would never believe as Lucius's reason. Fear on the other hand, was all he expected.

Lord Voldemort thought on Lucius's words for what felt like hours, though in truth it was a few mere minutes. His gaze was calculating, balancing the pros and cons of each variable to Lucius's proposal. It was maddening, what was there to reject? Why did the Dark Lord feel such a need to take matters regarding the brat personally? Theories as to why he had allowed Potter to talk down to him _before his followers_ and _live_ were circling their ranks like wildfire, each speculation becoming more and more outlandish. Yes, everything had been said, everything from their Lord going mad due to a rather nasty case of wrackspurt to Potter possessing some sort of innate ability to control minds. Lucius personally believed none, and knew there to be something they were all missing, but let the sheep bleat. The exponentially growing discord could only help him. While the Heir of Slytherin continued to ponder, Lucius chose to bring up his next point of topic.

"Furthermore, after the incident at your meeting the other day, I would not think it wise to bring him to my home for his lessons. Members of our ranks constantly pass through my doors, and not all understand that you have a greater plan. Therefore, I do not believe it safe. It would be best for me to tend to his lessons here, if you permit it."

At this the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, which moments before hadn't seemed possible. For a moment, Lucius feared his whole plan would be rejected. He couldn't allow that, couldn't wait for a new opportunity to gain further access to the grounds surrounding the lair of Salazar Slytherin, but he remained silent. To grow defensive now would only arouse suspicion.

"So in short," Lord Voldemort drawled, "you require passage throughout the remainder of my ancestral home."

"Yes, my Lord. Until the boy can fend for himself, I do not believe it safe for him to leave here."

Lucius expected his words to have no effect. The Dark Lord had been working to kill Potter since he was a babe, an assumed plan to use him as a weapon against Dumbledore wouldn't stop The-Boy-Who-Lived from coming to an untimely end as soon as his role was filled. So when Lord Voldemort, the self proclaimed most powerful wizard in existence, a man whose very existence was denied by so many for fear of his wrath, seemed to calm, the Malfoy Head's jaw very nearly dropped. Was he actually considering what the aristocrat had said? Was he actually suggesting that Potter's safety had some value to him? Perhaps there was some merit behind the rumours of the Heir of Slytherin's madness. Lucius was brought from his thoughts when the Dark Lord spoke again, but his thoughts were far from forgotten.

"Lucius, I am willing to give you a chance in this endeavor. You may return here upon my orders to assist in the education of Harry. You are right that I have more planned here than you realize, but do not even begin to think that you understand the gravity of this situation. Serve me well, and you will be rewarded, but I assure you, if you fail me your death will not come swiftly."

Lucius swallowed nervously, and nodded.

"Yes my Lord, I understand."

"Very good. I expect you to return to this hall this afternoon, I will summon you when. Directions as to where you will be permitted access will be waiting for you then. You are dismissed."

Lucius stood with the Dark Lord, before shifting to a kneeling position. Lord Voldemort turned to the door, robes flowing dramatically and almost hitting Lucius in the face. He chose to converse with his blasted snake upon exiting, the sickening hiss of their secret language echoing off the walls.

As soon as he heard the door close behind the serpentine pair, Lucius stood and apparated back to his estate. The light flooding through his familiar den, the scent of old books and whatever flowers Narcissa had directed the staff to put out, the sound of his footsteps against his own floors all aided to calm his nerves. He should be pleased, he was exceptionally pleased. The Malfoy head grinned an almost maniacal glint in his eyes. The hard part was over, but the dangerous part of his game had yet to begin. Still, the Dark Lord had just handed Lucius access to his ancestral home, and with it all its secrets. Yes, those would take time to find, time, careful planning, and research. The Malfoy main library was coming up on his left, it should serve his needs well. After all, how hard could it be to find a book on manipulating wards in a sanctuary dedicated to the dark arts?

**~X~**

The library on the second level of Slytherin Castle had become a sanctuary of sorts to Harry.

Perhaps not the library as a whole, there were sections of roped off books he made sure to avoid. Especially after opening one to find it shrieking and spilling tarantulas across the shelves. Believe it or not, death by sentient literature did not sound appealing. No, it was this specific corner, curled up in an oversized chartreuse armchair by the window that had become Harry's safe haven. It was here that he would slip away to between lessons, or late in the evening to fill his mind with all he had missed as a child. It was calming, and allowed him to escape his thoughts, even if only for an hour or so. However, after the events of this morning, the messy-haired teen was finding the task a bit more difficult than usual.

Today should have been another normal Tuesday. He had woken up from a perfectly comfortable heap in the middle of his freakishly oversized bed (alright, it wasn't that big but it felt that way), gotten dressed, and went to practice some transfigurations before breakfast. There was a small collection of tea cups on his dresser, and he had yet to do anything more impressive with them than forcing them to shake and levitate for a moment. One of them did sprout fur the night before, but not long after it chucked itself out the window in shame.

So that was how Harry found himself sitting at a desk he was still adjusting to calling his, wand brandished and lower lip bit as he attempted to turn the cup before him into anything else. The teen hadn't even heard the door open behind him, nor the footsteps that made their way across the room, stopping only inches behind his chair.

"It does usually help if one has some idea what they are attempting to create, as opposed to sitting idly hoping for something to happen."

Harry bolted up and yelped, throwing his arm to the side and himself off balance, resulting in his chair shifting under his weight and falling over, leaving the green eyed teen in a most undignified heap on the floor. He groaned, then opened his eyes to find one Dark Lord looming over him. The man looked at him incredulously before lowering a hand to the boy. The whole scene was so ridiculous, Harry couldn't help but laugh before taking it.

"How the hell did you get in here?" He managed between breaths.

"The door. I would assume that to be the obvious conclusion."

"Yeah, but I mean, in here, without me noticing-hey is that my teacup?"

The boy's attention was immediately dropped from the ninja known as Voldemort, and towards the sleek furry creature now scurrying about his desk. Voldemort grinned, a grin that many others would have taken in with caution but Harry recognized as relaxed, and chuckled.

"Technically, it's a ferret."

"When did I do that?" Harry asked, and rubbed the back of his neck. He would have liked to say it was just a nervous tick, but that fall had kind of hurt.

"While you were so gracefully tumbling into the carpet, I'm honestly impressed that you even hit the cup, and not the ceiling. The room may have started breathing." The Dark Lord chuckled again before transfiguring the fidgety critter back into a harmless (well, boring more than harmless, you could still throw it at someone) cup. Harry grinned, though it was more a nervous grin than anything.

"Heh, yeah, I guess my spells just work better when I'm stressed-"

"Or toppling to the floor"

"That too." Harry laughed, rolling his eyes slightly. Yeah, so more often than not he made an ass of himself when it came to magic, but in the end it was always fun. That may have been more a result of Voldemort usually going along with his snark than anything else though. Sometimes, the teen forgot why people seemed so afraid of him. He always remembered that this was a man willing to torture his followers in the case of failure though, and was more than willing to kill for his cause, of course, but it was nice to pretend that wasn't important.

"Anyways, yeah what brings you down here? Up here? I'm still not sure where 'here' is in relation to the rest of the castle, but moving on, yeah, what's up?" He stopped himself before he could babble any further. The Dark Lord brushed Harry's hair back, thumb tracing over the scar on his forehead. Harry had noticed Voldemort was paying it a lot of attention now. Well, it was pretty cool, so he brushed the action off.

"I wanted to let you know that there's been a bit of a change in plans regarding your stay here."

Harry took a step back. His eyebrow raised in confusion, as he tried to figure out how bad this change was going to be based on Voldemort's expression. Honestly, he had no idea.

"Alright, is this a 'oh, you'll just be mildly annoyed' change of plans, or should I sit down or something?"

This time, Harry's retort was met with an exasperated sigh and a crimson glare. The teen raised his arms in a mock surrender.

"Alright, alright, the first one, got it. So, shoot, let's get this over with."

"Very well, Lucius will be taking over your lessons when I am preoccupied elsewhere or simply too busy to tend to them. I doubt it will be terribly often, but he is starting this afternoon."

Harry's jaw dropped. Of all people, why would he-

"I'm sorry, did I hear that right? You mean Lucius Malfoy, Grade-A stick-in-the-mud, aristocratic prat, tried to kill me-"

"I told him to do that."

"Yeah yeah yeah I'll complain about that again later-_that_ Lucius Malfoy? But, why?"

"He proposed the agreement, and I saw some merit to his argument."

" "No no, there's got to be more than that."

The gears began turning in the green-eyed boy's mind, searching for any explanation for this. Malfoy was an arrogant sack of shit, seemed to only be barely tolerated by Voldemort, and really, didn't exactly strike Harry as the 'oh la-di-da I have so much spare time I think I'll try teaching' type. Seriously, if he was going to take on a project, he might want to start with his bedridden son. Harry made a mental note to look into that later, but didn't linger on the thought. Of all the things he knew about Lucius, this definitely didn't fit in. His actions just didn't make sense, so why would Voldemort agree with them? A thought then went through the teen's mind. It stood out against the rest of the jumble that was his brain, as if it wasn't his thought at all. A moment later, he realized it wasn't, and turned back towards the Dark Lord.

"You think he's up to something, and want to keep an eye on him." Harry realized, his voice filled with awe, though more from realizing he could pick up on Voldemort's thoughts via whatever the hell was going on between their brains.

"Very good, that I am. And in order to do that, I need to play along for a bit longer."

"So, what does that make me in this scheme, the collateral damage?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of third wheel." Voldemort answered with a smirk. Harry laughed, and threw a pillow at his face. Of course the boy had no idea that if anyone else tried as much, they would face horrifying and over-dramatic consequences, especially seeing as the all-powerful Dark Lord simply chose to let the pillow hit him. He scowled for a moment, making a chill run down Harry's spine.

The tension only lasted a second, until Voldemort grabbed the very same pillow and threw it back into Harry's face, successfully knocking off his glasses. The teen laughed again, before his face took on a far more serious, somber expression.

"What do you think he could be planning?"

"I have no idea."

"So, is there a chance this could be dangerous?"

"Very likely"

"And I'm assuming you want me to tell you if he does anything weird? Well, weirder than strutting about with his wand up his arse and wearing a bow in his hair?"

"I had assumed that much was obvious when I informed you of this change."

"Uh-huh, riiight, so, basically you're asking me to spy for you."

"Yes"

"Even though this could be dangerous, I don't actually work for you, and oh yeah, we don't even know if he's up to anything?"

"Yes, that would be precisely so."

"Did you know you might be insane?" Harry retorted with a chuckle. Voldemort did not seem as amused, and awaited an answer. Harry sighed, and cocked his head to the side.

"I'll tell you if he does anything fishy, but I'd prefer not to think of this as spying. It's just too...weird."

The Dark Lord smiled, then turned to face the door.

"I do appreciate this Harry, truly. Now come along, we have more to discuss before this afternoon."

But Harry had declined the offer. There were things they needed to discuss, yes, but the boy was sure the topics on his mind were very different than those dancing at the forefront of the mind of the Dark Lord. So Voldemort had left, and after some aimless wandering, Harry had found himself once again in this library. It was a wonder he didn't get lost more often, but the green-eyed teen credited that more to an intrinsic knowledge of the house via Voldemort's brain than anything else.

Once again, Harry closed his eyes. That damned link was the whole reason he was still here. While the Lord of Serpents likely wanted to discuss whatever Lucius may or may not have been up to, or just chat about magic, or anything, that wasn't what Harry needed. What he needed were _answers_. Not that it wasn't really bloody cool, but how the hell did someone end up with a link into the _mind _of someone they had never met? _A link into their fucking minds_. It was ridiculous! The teen had said as much to the Dark Lord, but the only response he got was a slight narrowing of crimson eyes, and a declaration of not knowing why as well. Harry would sigh and accept it, but only for so long. There was no way he didn't at least have a theory, but the glasses-clad teen wasn't going to push it.

No, he would hull himself within these walls for hours, and pour through any books that might cover mind links. And had he found some interesting things; love potions, blood magic (some of which was very disturbing, he probably wouldn't sleep for a week), necromancy, even children's fairy tales about three brothers, one of whom could raise the dead. All of them spoke of souls or minds or bonds, but none of them even came close to what he was experiencing. It was as though the magic simply didn't exist. Yet here he was, living proof otherwise.

The only word he could come up with for this was frustrating. And infuriating. Oh, and evidence that magic was clearly more trouble than it was worth. Ok, so that was 13 words, but still.

Slowly, the boy peeled himself from the comfort of the chair by the window, and the accompanying sunbeam. An idea had struck him, some magic he had yet to research. What was it that Voldemort called it, legi-something or another, he couldn't quite remember. But on their first encounter, it seemed to do a pretty good job letting them read each other's minds, so it was probably worth looking into. He walked across the room, skipping by the first three bookshelves. Harry bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, focusing on the topic at hand. Almost subconsciously, his hand raised itself, and seemed to float over the continuous rows of titles. Like the layout of the manor, he seemed to possess some intrinsic knowledge of where all the books in this library lay, it just took a bit more focus to find. After a few moments, his hand darted forward and withdrew "_Magicks of the Mind; A Comprehensive Guide to Occlumency and Legilimency"_. He immediately flipped through the first few chapters, eyes darting behind his glasses at impossible speeds before stopping suddenly within the pages of chapter seven.

_In it's simplest understanding, legilimency can be recognized as a means of traveling through the mind of it's victim. A skilled legilimens can search through a mind for specified knowledge, change the memories and thoughts of a person, even unravel the mind of another. Most legilimens requires the use of an incantation, though like all spellwork, nonverbal casting is possible. However, a continuous stream of magical energy must be present throughout the duration of the spell. One should not attempt such spellwork without intense practi-_

God damn it. Harry slammed the book shut and threw it across the room, knocking over a rather expensive looking crystal vase in the process. Whatever, who the hell left a crystal vase in a library anyways? And continuous energy required? Screw that, that was less than helpful. The teen pinched his brow and sunk to the floor, knees tucked in front of him. Back to square one, it seemed. He let out a deep, exaggerated sigh. This library was massive, so how come it didn't contain a single book that could help him? He needed a distraction, anything. Maybe he could go back to reading about goblin wars, those were gruesome enough.

After another moment, Harry picked himself off the floor in search of the historical section, but stopped short when he came in view of the main sitting space. He certainly hadn't left the door open, nor had he heard anyone come in. Yet here the door was, open slightly leaving the black marble hallways in clear view. For a moment Harry let himself be distracted by how strange it was that the hallways were so ominous and cold, yet his room and the library appeared so warm and open, but he shook the thought away quickly. Someone else had entered and he intended to figure out who. It could have been Voldemort, but he likely would have said something. As far as Harry knew, no one else lived here, perhaps an intruder? As silently as he could, the teen ducked back between the bookshelves, intent on weaving through the aisles and catching the perpetrator behind the open door. He passed through one set of shelves, then another, then rounded another corner, heart pounding. Harry could just feel it, whoever it was would be right here.

And he was right, to the most anti-climactic result. For before him, coiling in the center of the shelves was Nagini. If snakes could look smug, he imagined that the serpent before him would be giving him a shit-eating-grin to rival all shit-eating-grins. Including the ones Alex gave Tabitha whenever he tried hitting on her for the thousandth time.

"_You're funny when you're paranoid."_ Nagini finally hissed.

"_Yes, I'm so glad you found amusement in my panic you sociopath. How did you even get the door open, you don't have arms?!"_

The immense python gave what Harry had learned to recognize as a laugh. "_Silly humans and your arms, they look like more trouble than they're worth. I just use my mouth."_

The teen grimaced slightly, and made a mental note to avoid touching the doorknob on his way out. "_That's, erm, interesting, very interesting."_ Harry rolled his eyes slightly before kneeling to stroke Nagini under her chin. "_So, what brings you here? Looking for a good murder mystery? Do you guys even have any fiction around here?"_

"_That's a ridiculous question. I'm a snake, I can't read."_ Harry wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but he could swear Nagini had just made the serpent equivalent of an incredulous snort. "_No, Master sent me to tell you that Sir Lucius is waiting. Waste of my time if you ask me, can't he tell you himself?"_

"_Maybe he didn't want to leave whatever he was doing."_

"_I meant in your head, silly one. He talks to me all the time, can't he talk to you?"_

The teen blinked for a moment. Was that even possible? Sure, he could see Voldemort's thoughts periodically, and kind of tell how he was feeling, but they could _talk_ to eachother? So, that was a little weird, but Harry was eager to try that later.

"_Err, I don't know, I've never tried it. I'll be sure to though."_

"_I'm sure you will, now let's go."_

Harry laughed at her eagerness to go. He wasn't sure if it was from urgency, or just a desire to do as she was told, but either way it was sort of cute. "_And here I was under the impression you loved my company so much."_

"_Meh, you're good for a quick laugh, but pretty awful for any sort of deeper intellect."_

The teen laughed again, despite being insulted by a snake (a massive, hyper-intelligent one, but a snake nonetheless), and the pair headed for the door, Nagini leading the way.

**~X~**

**So, here we have another chapter that I intended on making much longer, which I am cutting off for the sake of getting something out. I kind of love writing Lucius, but on the other hand, he's a complete pain in the ass. That is all. Oh yeah, and my dialogues feel like they're really short, are they?**

**I'm creating a playlist for this story. Every chapter, I add a new song. Hopefully, in the end it will be something of a soundtrack for this story. Please feel free to check it out.**

**/playlist?list=PL9Zpu4O0bQ5apn6R6vZgIl8Wzl9KQxnED**


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